


The Bad Job

by marlowe78



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen, mentions of child-abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe78/pseuds/marlowe78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, bad guys make the best good guys. And sometimes, the path they tread is dirty and wrong. Sometimes, you have to wonder how far you are prepared to go...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Bad Language, bad situations, bad men. Mentions of child-pornography and -abuse.

“Uh, Nate, man, we have ta pull the plug on this one.“ Hardison rolled away from his computer, hands raised as if he didn't want to touch his keyboard anymore, like it was a hot plate or a bucket filled with poison.

“Why, what's wrong?”

“Because, man, I just found what Malcolm is hiding. And we ain't gonna get him that.”

Nathan strolled over, whiskey-glass in hand, already coiled tight and full of anticipation as he always was when they started a good con. “What is it? Why can't we get it to him?”

They'd been researching, finding more and more dirty money and dirty secrets on Malcolm Miles Winham the Fifth, now simply called Malcolm Winston after he'd sold himself to the Feds and got into witness protection two years ago. From where he continued to embezzle, betray, steal and rob from the people that had nothing, just so he could found his life and his desires, whatever they were.

It had taken them the whole fifteen days until now to come up with even a hint of where his stolen money went, Hardison with his magic fingers and a keyboard, Parker with magic hands and swift wrists and Eliot with ...well, with the patience of a saint, considering he'd had to wade through his garbage every day since day three. The saint-analogy was very loosely used, since he'd bitched and growled and snarled at them every second. Naturally, it had been the cause of a lot of jokes and teases, and even Nate hadn't been able to hide his smile now and then. If he didn't know better, he'd have believed that Parker was just playing the innocent, unaware little girl, covering a truly dry wit with her big eyes and gullible smile. Sometimes, he wasn't too sure about what he knew anymore, so he wouldn't put his bets out one way or the other.

“So what, I went into the trash and through his dirty underwear just so we can drop out now? You crazy?”

“Stop growling at me, man, this ain't our ballpark. This guy's not into diamonds, paintings or gold, man. We can't give him what he wants, and even if we could, we shouldn't.”

“Why, what is it?” Sophie sauntered over, her dark eyes fixed on the screen where a row of files sat, pulled right out from Winston's/Winham's secret flashdrive that had taken Parker a long time to find in his house. She was a little pissed about her lack of speed with this one.

“Yeah, what's it we dug into his dirt for?”

“Man, this guy is bad with a capital “B”. He's...”

“Just show it, Hardison.” Nate was getting impatient. He didn't want this con wasted, not just because he'd already invested so much thought in it, but also because Marilyn Morton and her family had really been robbed of everything they owned, forced to live in a family shelter now that house, money and even the car were gone. He didn't want to disappoint them.

Yeah, ok, and he didn't want to stop this con.

“He's into porn.” Before Eliot could interrupt, breath already deep in his lungs, Hardison held his hand up and continued. “Kiddy-porn, man. And I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole!”

**

The room was so silent that Nate could hear every breath, thought he could hear the thoughts strumming through the minds of his team. He swallowed dry, then changed his mind and wet his throat with whiskey.

“What kind?” Eliot frowned, but he spoke low, not as rough as he'd been talking ever since that whole fucking business with Moreau.

“The bad kind, man. And do not make me look at those pictures, one peek's more'n enough for me, guys. If you wanna check my opinion, be my guest, but do not expect me to stay and watch.”

Nathan straightened before Eliot could bark back. “Nobody's making you watch, Hardison, calm down. We get it. I get it. We... we … there's nothing else we could hook him with?”

“Man, he's got thousand's of very illegal, very probably very dirty pictures of very young boys on his super-secret, very hidden flashdrive. Do the math, man.”

Shit.

**

“Can't we get to him another way? Get the police on his track?”

“The Feds are protecting him. It's like with that scumbag Colpepper, they won't do anything until it's really bad.”

“How much more bad can it get than this?” Sophie stared, unbelieving, at their hacker, who just raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Don't ask me, Sophie, I don't know.”

“Nate?”

He nearly didn't flinch from the soft voice next to his ear, nearly didn't give away that he'd been startled by Eliot's presence so close to him. Nearly.

But he'd been watching Parker, prepared but afraid for the moment she decided to ask what they were even talking about. He didn't know if she understood it, and some secret hidden place filled with empathy hoped to God she really didn't know it, or if she did, just the basic concept. Just theoretically.

So far, she was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, watching with birdlike intensity the team's bickering and arguing about something they couldn't, but really, really wanted to do.

“Yeah?”

“Can I talk t' you for a second?”

Nathan nodded and followed, then turned on his heel to get his drink. His gut told him he might need it.

In the kitchen, far enough away from the others, Eliot leaned with his back against the counter, fixing him with his unblinking, assessing gaze. He was still as a statue – no, as a cat just before it pounced. If he'd had a tail, it would be twitching, Nate was sure.

“How far is that plan of yours hatched?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... is it finished? Or just outlined? If it was something else, money or jewelery, could we pull it off?”

“It's not money, Eliot. We can't pull this off. All of this plan's based on us delivering him what he craves and getting him caught red-handed, out in the open, where no-one could hide his dirty secrets anymore. And... we can't deliver what he's craving, so … no, it's not possible to pull it off.”

“That's not what I asked. I asked if the plan is finished, if it's something we could pull if it weren't for the kids-aspect.”

Oh, he'd understood him perfectly the first time, but Nathan hadn't been prepared to say 'Yes'. Not because he wanted to lie to his ...well, friend, in lack of a better word for what they were. No, he certainly didn't want to lie. But he very much didn't want to pull this off either. It would involve Sophie pretending to... but no, no, he wouldn't put her there.

“We can't Eliot. Sophie can do a lot of things, but I doubt she could pull off pretending to be a kiddy-porn-peddler, or even worse. She's not that person, and even if she could pretend... I …”

“I get it, okay?” Eliot raised his hand, stopping him from becoming more agitated. “I don't mean that. I really don't think she could do it, this guy's a paranoid asshole, there's no way he'll believe her to be such a person. She's good, but … well, I guess that's the problem.” He smirked, completely devoid of humor. “But the plan's solid?” Reluctantly, Nathan nodded. “Can we tweak it? Make Soph the middle-man? A … broker kind of person?”

Nathan turned his back, watched the rest of his crew. They were still arguing back and forth, but they lacked drive, lacked hope. They looked defeated, and they hadn't even started the con yet, hadn't even gotten into trouble. He took a sip, savoring the taste in his mouth, the wooden, smokey flavor on his tongue and in the back of his throat. He could feel Eliot waiting, felt his eyes on him. Patient. Just like that cat.

“Yeah, I think so.”

A soft exhale was the only hint that Eliot even cared about his answer. It sounded dangerously close to relief. “Good. We should do it, then.”

He frowned, still not facing Eliot. Ideas were floating, new ways to sneak into the confidence of their mark, to take him down, hard and dirty and forever. Eliot was right, it was possible to pull it off like that. Just... the price might be too high for him to pay.

“I don't think I can do that,” he finally admitted, turning back to look at the bowstring-tight cookhitterconmanthiefsmugglerkillerwhathefuckever across from him.

Nathan'd never liked showing his cards, not even when he'd been married, not even while his life had been happy. And he hated, more than a bit, to let anyone know about his limitations. He was their leader, the man with the plan, with a plan for everything. They counted on him doing that, being that, and if it cost him to stay a bit detached from three of his team, and even from Sophie though she was already much too deep inside his skin, well, so be it. He'd gladly pay that price if it meant being the man with the plan.

But this time, and especially with this man, he would have to show his cards. It wouldn't matter much, he thought, because if there was one person who could look at him and see every secret inside, it was Eliot. Not because he was closest to him, but Spencer was too honest about himself to be fooled by Nathan's tricks to deflect from what was hidden inside.

He'd known Eliot had him figured out the first time they'd played pool. And it hadn't surprised him that Eliot had known about him and Sophie before Shark-Boy had spilled their secret. You didn't get to live as long as Spencer in his line of work if you could walk into a room with a bra hanging from the stairs and not notice that. Or smell sex in a hotel-room.

He'd never said anything, though, just waited until it was out in the open to ask him if trust was a one way street in their team, if it was okay for everyone to know Hardison and Parker getting together but not for Nate and Sophie. ”We're not little kids, man. And you're not our parents who try to hide that mommy and daddy have sex with each other. Not even Parker believes kids come from the stork”

Well... put like that...

So he just said what was the truth, just this once, straight-out.

“Eliot, I can't go out and pretend to sell child-pornography, or worse, to that man. I... I can't.”

A fleeting hint of compassion flitted across Eliot's features, there and gone in not even a second. He appreciated it nonetheless, even though he'd never doubted that Eliot cared. Funny, how that went.

**


	2. Chapter 2

Nathan knew more about Eliot Spencer than the rest of his team. Hardison might know a lot as well, but not all things were on file, not everything could be gotten from the internet. So Nathan knew a lot, but he hadn't known about Moreau, hadn't even thought that Eliot would've worked for that man, still couldn't believe that their Eliot was a man capable of working for Damien Moreau, be on a first-name basis and walk away after quitting. And, from what he'd gotten from Hardison, be so well-known and so well-feared by Moreau's men that it was rather certain he'd been talked about, praised and spoken of in high regard after he'd left.

That was a scary thought.

He knew it had happened. He knew it, intellectually, knew that he'd left Eliot in a warehouse filled with well-armed thugs, left him with one handgun and nothing else, left him to get the Italian out, to get Moreau. He knew that, and he knew that Eliot had walked out of that warehouse, pissed and scary but unhurt. He knew that.

Who survives something like that? Unscratched? You have to be something really special, something really scary to do that.

Nathan knew that, and still, it wasn't compatible with who he was standing in front of. Not even compatible with the guy he'd met five-and-a-half years ago on a heist for Victor Dubenich. Not with the man who cooked with so much compassion, rode horses and sang country-songs and smiled his way into every panty he wanted, and it wasn't even compatible with the man who killed Russian gangsters with hors d'œuvres and kicked ass on a regular basis.

Sophie could slip into skins like a chameleon, like Parker could slip into airducts or Hardison into an uncrackable firewall. Eliot, though... he actually was different people. Sophie tried on and shed personas, but Eliot... well, he actually was at least two people, if not more. And sometimes, those Eliot Spencer's met, and it wasn't always a happy reunion.

Ah, who was he kidding, it probably never was.

Sometimes, when Nathan let himself think about his team, he realized that from all of them, Eliot had the most baggage, buried too deep to ever find without Spencer's consent. Parker was close second, but while her baggage had been put on narrow, vulnerable shoulders and had shattered something inside her, Eliot's had been heaped on an adult, already able to fight and survive. He carried it. Mostly, he carried it well.

So yeah, Nate knew a lot about Eliot Spencer, not all but enough to know the gist of who he was talking to, who was standing in his kitchen with slightly softening eyes.

And it shouldn't have surprised him when Eliot nodded, hung his head, then looked back up with a new edge to his face.

“Yeah, I know. You won't have to. I will.”

It shouldn't, but it did.

**

“You're not seriously considering this, are you? Nathan!”

Sophie was livid. She paced, and Sophie never paced. Parker perched on the window-sill while Hardison stared at him, open-mouthed but very certainly already thinking and planning with his quick brain. He might be the first who would get it, though it pained Nathan to even think about what it would do to him. He knew Alec liked Eliot, though they bickered and fought and drove each other nuts, there was a solid friendship between them, and it wasn't solely coming from Hardison.

“Is Eliot gonna sell him a kid?”

“No, Parker, he certainly is not...”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“The Hell?”

Sophie turned so fast, Nate worried she'd slip on her high-heels and break an ankle, but she just wheeled around and glared at him. “You can't let him do that!”

“Ah, so how should I stop him?”

“Tell him!”

He stared at her, raising his eyebrows. Parker giggled. “That's funny, Sophie,” she grinned either completely true with not getting it was meant seriously or … well, probably exactly that. “No, really Nate. Eliot's gonna sell this man a kid?”

“Well... in a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“What? How can you say that that's okay? Parker, it's … that's...” Hardison spluttered, but she just slipped over to him and petted his leg.

“It's Eliot,” she stated, like that was all there was to it. And maybe it was, or maybe it wasn't, but she clearly didn't worry about it anymore, and for that, ill-adviced as it might be, Nathan was grateful.

Sophie grabbed his arm, tugged him along to the kitchen, giving him just enough time to tell Hardison to get into one of Winham's supply-websites.

He poured himself a glass, but Sophie took it from his hand and drank it herself, filling it with water instead to give to him.

“How can you let him do this, Nate,” she hissed, anger coming off her in waves. “You figure you can't pull it off yourself and let him do it?”

“No, dammit, Sophie! I didn't make him do anything, he offered!”

“So you agreed with that stupid plan? You agreed with that, went along with that, even though...” she turned a bit, trying to see if the two remaining teammates were listening in on them. Eliot had left right after their talk, the one they'd had right here at the same spot Nathan was now standing with Sophie. He'd gone, giving him the doubtful honors of revealing the Big Plan. “Even though you know what it might do to him?” she whispered, still angry but a lot more under control now.

And that raised Nathan's hackles, like only she could, like only her controlled fury could ever do. Who was she to suggest he didn't know or didn't care about Eliot. Who was she to insinuate that he'd happily gone along with it, without thinking it through. Who was she, to act like she was the only one who knew and cared about the Eliot they all knew – who was she to just ignore the other Eliots, the ones they didn't know, but knew of. Or at least should know of.

“So you think I just let him hash that plan and happily sang along? Huh? That it? Sophie Devereaux, master-grifter with a heart of gold, working, against her better judgment, with the uncaring, slimy ex-insurance-investigator who was out to get his team into trouble. That it? That's your play in this?”

“How dare you! You know me, you know that's not how I think!”

“And you know me!” he roared back, not caring about anyone listening. “You know me, better than anyone, you know who I am. That's what you say all the time, right? So if you know me, how can you think that? Or even hint that's what you're thinking? If you know me so well, how can you think I don't give a damn, and if you think you know him so much better, darling, you better ask yourself one thing.”

She stood still, glaring up to where he was leaning over her, closer than he'd realized he'd come, right in her personal space. She didn't flinch or blink, just shot daggers at him with her dark eyes, not afraid. He took a step back, taking a deep breath to get himself back under control. He wouldn't be any good for them like this, he had to be in control.

“What's that?” Parker asked from across the room, not even pretending not to hear their fight. “What's the one thing she has to ask herself?”

Nate looked at the three, at Sophie, whose look had softened again, gone caring again. At Parker, curious, detached and engaged at the same time, and at Hardison, who was wiping his face with his hand, wide-eyed and maybe a little scared of him. Or maybe just scared in general.

“You shouldn't ask yourself why I would allow Eliot to do this.” - what a joke, as if he had any real say in what Eliot would decide to be the right thing - “You should ask yourself why he'd want to.”

**

After all was said and done, the hustle and bustle of the planning stages had intensified. Hardison had hacked himself into one disgusting site after the other, placing the fake auction to lure their mark in. He would be the only bidder, though to Malcolm Winham, it would appear to be ten or eleven people with the same interest.

Hardison also planted a worm-like thingy or something that would, with one click, lay those sites wide open to the feds to find and destroy. Nobody had objected when he'd announced this, Sophie had even petted his back for it.

And if Alec looked a little hollow-eyed and haunted after his late-night hacking, well... There always was a price to pay. He was the only one who could do it, and that was really all there was to it.

Parker had once more broken into Winham's home, this time inserting evidence to his flashdrive instead of taking information out of it. Sophie had slipped into Anna Blockard, broker of every deal that was possible to make on earth, Nate had planned and planned and drunken whiskey and Eliot... well, he'd disappeared. Had said he'd take care of getting the right kind of things to hook their mark with and then had gone offline and off the grid. He'd apparently even changed his shoes, because there was no tracking-device on him, as Hardison had confirmed. Even Parker had returned from her mission to follow him, head hung low and sad pout on her lips. Nathan had nearly smiled.

Three weeks after first deciding on Winham as their mark, seven days after finding his very dirty, disgusting secrets, they were ready. The bait was cast and Winham had already started to sniff it out.

The plan was in motion, and there was no stopping it now.


	3. Chapter 3

“Got him, hook, line and sinker! Whoo-hoo, you bastard, you're going down, my man, deep, deep, deep down. I hope you rot in Hell, you weasely, disgusting thing!”

“I take it he started bidding?” Eliot sprawled on the couch, for once with them and not off doing... Spencer-things.

“Bidding? Man, he's already on the top list of bidders, he's danglin' like a rabbit in a snare.”

“How'd you know about snares?” Eliot sneered, and Nate looked up from the papers he was reading in case he needed to break up a fight. In the last days, Spencer'd gotten more volatile than ever, and either Hardison hadn't figured it out yet, or he didn't care, still poking the angry tiger with a stick.

Or maybe he did care and did it anyway, just so the tiger wouldn't think he was all alone.

He should stop hanging out with Sophie so much, Nate decided. Her psychological insights were starting to rub off on him.

“I happen to be the worlds best poacher in the whole internet, you wouldn't be able to tell me 'bout setting traps.”

“Right, that's why you nearly got shot by hillbilly-terrorists.”

“I was nearly shot by hillbilly-terrorists because I'm black, man, and you know it. Also, I happened to save the world that day, don'tcha forget that!”

“Right, MacGyver, you're a genius.”

“Ha! A TV-reference! Gotcha, ha, I gotcha, I knew you wouldn't be this ignorant, nobody is, hee!” Amused, Nathan watched Hardison dance across the living-room, looking like he had ants in his pants. He spotted Eliot's secret little smile, gone in the split of a second when Hardison turned back towards him, then caught the mischievous glint in his eyes when he suddenly sat up, straight-backed and alert.

“What'cha talking bout, man? How'd you know Louis?”

“Who?”

“Louis?” Eliot stood, approaching his friend “Louis MacGyver? You know him? You should stay away from him, he's bad news. You think I'm bad? Just... do not get close to Louis.” He'd stepped right into Hardisons's space, voice low, harsh, flitting glances over his shoulder as if looking for a threat, playing his friend like a fiddle, a marvelous display of deception. Nate smiled into his coffee, straight, not Irish this time. “Just.. don't mess with Louis.” Eliot warned once more, then walked out the door, winking at Nate on his way out.

“He's kidding, right?” Hardison asked, uncertain. “Nathan? Tell me he's kidding.”

Nathan just shrugged and got back to his papers.

“That's not cool, man, so not cool. Seriously!”

**

“Mr. Smith, congratulations on your win.” Smooth as ever, Sophie walked over to the mark, calm and efficient as her new persona was drafted in her head. Anna Blockard was smart and collected, didn't care what she dealt with or at least didn't want to care and therefor, didn't want to know.

Anna Blockard was a piece of work, a piece of art, and she was shaking Winham's hand as if he wasn't the last piece of disgusting, slimy residue from the sewers that was smiling at her with hopeful eyes, not even caring about her, not even looking at her but instead at the briefcase she'd brought along, inside which a big, stuffed envelope was sitting and waiting do be delivered.

Nate watched his movements on the screen, cameras hidden all over the room. He watched for something strange, off, for danger and, even more, for a hint of the evil he knew sat inside this man. But there was nothing. He looked no different from all the people they'd conned before, not even much different from the people they tried to help.

He was just an ordinary human being, and that was … hard to face.

“You won't find it,” Eliot growled, startling Nathan a little. He'd thought he was asleep, as he'd been out the whole night doing whatever it was he did. When he'd crawled in this morning, he'd held the envelope out to Sophie, clearly uncomfortable. But he hadn't threatened her or anyone else with bodily harm if they'd look inside, and strangely enough, everyone – even Parker – had still avoided it like the plague it probably held.

Nathan'd felt soiled even seeing it on his table, he figured the others didn't feel much different.

Now, that same envelope was in the briefcase and Sophie handed it over, once more congratulating the mark for his 'winnings'.

“Yes, thank you, Ma'am, I appreciate it. What … I assume the money has arrived already?”

“Yes, why thank you, Mr. Smith. Everything went marvelously. I hope you enjoy your prize, and if you want to do further business with me, please don't hesitate to call me. Here's my card.”

She held out the simple, white business-card with just a phone-number on it, the last piece of the dominoes set in place. Soon, if everything went according to plan, they would tip one over and that'd be it, the end of the great Mr Malcolm Miles Winham the Fifth, his downfall.

“What do you mean?”

“You won't find the mark of Cain on him, or anything obvious. You never do. They aren't different, just people,” Eliot murmured from behind him, eyes still closed, posture sleepy-relaxed. Deceptively calm and harmless. Like that cat. “Just people, Nate.”

“I know.”

“Don't think about it, won't do ya any good.”

On the screen, Sophie smiled her friendly business-smile and turned, walking out of the suite that had been their meeting-place. Before she'd even left, Winham was on the suitcase and opened it, caressing the envelope within and biting his lip in contemplation. He clearly wanted to look at it here and there, and for a moment, Nathan thought about how they could have just given him something harmless, like comic-books, in addition to a nice, very harmful letter-bomb and be done with him. They'd even be able to watch him blow up, since the weasely man in that hotel-suite didn't wait, didn't just take it home with him. Instead he opened the envelope and peered inside, sliding one picture out.

“Shut it off, Nate.” Eliot spoke, not an order or anything Nathan might take offence with. It was spoken low, gently. A suggestion, and though spikes of interests were digging at him from inside, he followed the advice.

After all, cats would know best about the dangers of curiosity.

**

“All's set. What now?” Sophie was back inside their hideout where Hardison poked at the many secrets on Winham's flashdrive, Parker poked at a lock and Eliot looked like he was asleep again. He wasn't, though.

“Now we wait,” Eliot drawled, “hook's cast, he will call. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week. But he will.”

“How can you be sure 'bout that, man? He could get more stuff for less money on the net, why risk personal contact? Why would he do that?”

Eliot sat up, stretched and smirked, but once again it wasn't a sign of happy thoughts. “Because, my friend, he will. He won't be able to resist, and he will call. My guess... three days.”

“But... how'd you know that, man? What makes you so sure?”

“Oh, is this one of the things we shouldn't ask if we don't want to hear the answer?” Parker interrupted whip-smart and perceptive in her own, quirky way. Spencer smiled at her, a true smile, and then pointed at her with his thumb while facing Hardison.

“Listen to the lady, she gets it just fine.” He slipped towards the door, smiling at Sophie for a second. “I'll go get food.”

The door snicked close behind him.

“Is it just me, or is Mr Lone Wolf getting even loner by the minute?”

“Eliot's not alone, Hardison, we're here.”

“I don't think that's what he meant, Parker...”

“I know what he meant, Sophie, but I still meant what I said. He's not alone, he has us.”

Nate smiled into his drink. Girl had a point.


	4. Chapter 4

Four days later, Sophie got the call.

Nate didn't even bother to be surprised; whatever Spencer had cooked up and put inside that envelope had elicited too much confidence to not let the mark bite, and bite hard.

“Blockard Unlimited, how can I help you?” Hardison breathed into the phone pretending to be the soft-spoken receptionist anyone would expect Anna Blockard to have. “Yes, certainly, Mister Smith I will give your name and number to Ms Blockard and she will call you back. Is that going to be in order, Sir? … Yes, thank you for calling Blockard Unlimited, Mister Smith.” Hardison hung up, scratching his hair with force. “Man, I feel dirty even talking to that creep. This is such a … man, it's disgusting, it's what it is.”

“Oh, stop complaining, Hardison, you didn't have to shake his hand.” Sophie snarled back, then straightened and slipped into her role. When the traces of Sophie Devereaux had disappeared, she motioned to Alec to connect the call.

“Mr. Smith, what a pleasure to hear from you again, and so quickly. How can I help you?”

”Ms Blockard, do you have any way to … to get in contact with the person who hired you to deliver my win?”

“Why, yes, of course I do. Is there a problem with the merchandize? Do you need me to... work something out with the other party?”

”No, no, all is well. I... I would just like to order more of the... merchandize and wondered if you could arrange that. Is it possible?”

“Well, of course it's possible. Our fees are quite... generous, though, and since this time it would be you who hires me, it would be you who pays. Is that agreeable with you?”

”Uhm.. how much are we talking here?”

“Ten thousand dollars, up front, no refund if you don't come to terms with the second party – I'm only the broker and I do not participate in your tradings.” Silence stretched. “Mr Smith, are you still with me?”

”Oh, yes yes. I just... I needed to... well, never mind. I agree to those terms, Ms Blockard. When-”

Sophie interrupted. “Like the last time, Mr Smith, I will contact you when your business-associate is willing to deal. The money for my service will be wired to my account, and I need it until tomorrow or our deal is off. Do you understand? My assistant will give you the transfer-details. Now, have a pleasant evening, Mr Smith.”

With flourish, Sophie disconnected and Hardison took over, smoothly giving the mark an account-number to wire the money to. It would be used directly for Mrs Morton and her family.

“So, now what? Sophie gives him more pictures or whatever else was in that envelope and we string him along until he's broke? I mean, I ain't complainin' about the broke-part, man, but that sounds like a loooong ass con.”

“No, the plan's a little different.” Nathan glanced over at Eliot, who didn't appear to have moved at all. He wasn't meeting his eyes. Very reassuring.

“So what's the plan? What do we steal?” Parker lit up at the idea, and Nathan hated to crush her enthusiasm.

“Nothing. Well... not nothing. We steal his everything, but right now, we don't need the actual stealing to happen. We rather... give him things.”

Parker stared at him, wide eyed as if the concept was entirely alien to her. It might just be, he wouldn't be able to tell.

“How far are we going to take it, Nate? What... I mean I can do a lot, but...”

“You don't need to take it much further, Soph. Next meeting, he'll want to cut out the middle-man. And you will allow that, since Ms Blockard is very down-to-business and would never stand against the wishes of her employer.” He winked. “He'll want to see his partner, and that's the next thing we'll give him.” They looked up at him, like kids on Christmas, like grandchildren to their favorite Grandpa, like Sam had looked... Nathan swallowed, took one more sip of whiskey. “Let's go steal a life.”

**

“Mister Smith.” Sophie didn't try to waste her charm on the man. The last time, he hadn't even bothered to look at her more than the absolute necessities, and since she knew his real preferences, well... no use trying to flatter him with her beauty. Nate was impressed with her cold calculation. She reminded him of Tara, like this, who'd had more ice inside her veins. Where Sophie made people burn, Tara dazzled with the sparkle of diamonds: utterly beautiful but cold and hard. “I have made arrangements with the second party, he is willing to deal with you some more. He has more of the merchandize you request, and he'd be willing to work something out that would be to our mutual benefit.”

“Yes, yes. Well... I'm really … Ms Blockard, I don't want to offend you, but could you ask him to meet me? Personally? I don't feel very... free around you. I'm sorry,” he quickly apologized, as if it would matter that her feelings might be hurt. As if he cared.

“Well, Mister Smith, I would strongly advice against that. In … well, in your business, it would be much better to keep the direct contact to a minimum.”

“What … do you know about my business?” Winham clutched the envelope – the new one, not as thick as the first but clearly filled with something – against his chest, a spooked look crossing over his face. “Did you look in the envelope?”

“Mister Smith, don't be ridiculous.”

Nate exhaled the breath he'd held without even knowing. For a moment, he'd feared Sophie had slipped up, hinting, even covertly, that she knew more about Winham than she should if she were Anna Blockard. But her cool dismissal had set Winham at ease right away.

Hardison had wired the room perfectly. Nate could see every motion, and even every expression through the camera in Sophie's necklace.

“Having scruples is a luxury in my business. I like luxury. And I also like my job very much.” She smirked. “And the money, of course. But to keep all of what I like, I cannot afford to know what you and my other clients are up to. Peeking into somebodies mail would assure not only a dwindling supply of clients but also a rapid loss in luxury. So no, Mister Smith, I did not look into your envelope.” Sophie sneered at him, pretend-affronted and a little angry at her 'client'. Winham was reassured and smiled, trying his good-ol'-boy charm on her to get himself out from under her sharp gaze.

”No, no, of course, I apologize for my rudeness. I don't doubt your professionalism. It is just... well, I would feel a lot more at ease if I actually saw who I'm dealing with. It's... well, it's a thing I have.”

“Yeah, I bet ya do,” Alec snarled at the screen. “Bet you have a lot of 'things' you have, you slimy little … thing.”

“Shhh,” Nathan shushed him, listening back in.

”Well... I will certainly ask him. It is, after all, my job to pass messages back and forth. If he agrees, though, I expect a compensation.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I think... how much?”

“Ugh, I don't like calculating on the spot. But... well, I estimate twenty-thousand should be sufficient.”

“Twenty...” the man visibly spluttered, but after a moment of angry swallows while Sophie stood by and let him work it out, he nodded ”Yes, very well. If your – my – partner agrees, I will pay you the money. But this time, it won't be up front but when I actually meet this man. Or woman. I don't care either way. You can leave at once after the greetings, and I'll give you the money. Or do you prefer it wired?”

“Wired, please. Cash is so easy to lose these days.”

Her disdain looked and sounded genuine, and in his head, Nate drew his hat for her. Sophie in action was a thing of beauty.

”I will contact you as soon as I have an answer. Good day, Mister Smith.”

With that, she left the room and once again, Winham couldn't wait to check the contents of his envelope. Whatever Eliot had prepared, it made the mark very happy. Hardison made a puking sound next to him and Nate couldn't agree more.

He switched off the screen.

**

“You sure you want to do this? Eliot?”

Eliot just stared at her, then growled an affirmation. Funny, how a man could communicate perfectly with angry glares and threatening growls, and yet never manage to actually make any of the team afraid of him. Strange, how a man so dangerous was considered a pussycat by four people, despite them all knowing – at least on a basic, logic level – what he was capable off.

Nathan hoped this wouldn't be the pet-tiger that ate Sigfried. Or Roy?

“Eliot, listen, best way to play him is-”

Spencer listened, nodding once in a while. Nate hadn't gotten to where he was today by ignoring hints, hadn't survived so long in this crazy line of work without knowing what to look for in his team-members, so it wasn't hard to see it: Eliot was humoring her, not intending to use any of her tips. And that was … worrying. Because Eliot was not a grifter.

He was good, he could pull off a nice con, could smirk and smile his way along perfectly, but he still wasn't a born conman.

He wouldn't be able to act like one so there was little doubt that he wouldn't even try.

That was, as said before, worrisome. And Nate wasn't yet sure why, exactly.

**

At seven that night, Sophie accompanied Eliot to the hotel room where Winham was already waiting. When they'd left, they'd been Eliot Spencer and Sophie Deveraux on their way to a big con, like always, like the people they were. When they stepped into the rigged room, though, Anna Blockard was followed by a stranger. Cold-eyed and hard, emotionless, Eliot – no, not Eliot, Evan Howard – stepped inside, shooting a glance at the man and assessing him as an adversary. Or better, as a man not worth any violence but a lot of money. He didn't have his trademark scowl on, just a blank detachment that still projected danger.

“Damn, Eliot's good, man,” Hardison whispered and Nate didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't an act. Not...exactly.

”Ms Blockard, what a pleasure.” Winham barely managed to keep his manners, his greedy eyes set on Eliot, drawn towards him, towards the man who would deliver his desires. He quickly pulled out a tablet computer, punched in a few numbers and smiled at Sophie. “Your money is sent. I am very grateful for your service, I will recommend you further whenever I get the chance.” He shook her hand again, even gave a little bow and accompanied, nearly shoved her to the door. Sophie said a few short, politely-cold words in goodbye and then left.

Leaving their mark with Eliot.

“Is he gonna kill him?” Parker asked, upside-down from the sturdy cabinet. “He looks different.”

“That's because he's upside-down, girl. Or better, you are,” Hardison joked, but Nathan knew he'd realized the same thing. The man they all knew didn't radiate such coldness, not from up close and certainly not over a computer-screen. Hot fury, yes. Violence, yes. But this?

But the man they all knew wasn't the one standing in that room, ready to negotiate with a slimy, dirty excuse for a human being.

Eliot's hair was slicked back, gelled or greased instead of just combed or tied with a hairband. It made him look like a ball of dirt, yet still didn't take from his hard, cruel intelligence. Even a bastard like Winham would see that, and Nate had watched Eliot fitting into his disguise earlier. It wasn't much, a suit that looked more expensive than it was and the mentioned hairdo.

For a hard-hitting thief, Spencer was really invested in his hair.

“So?” Eliot spoke, the same detached arrogance in his voice that was in his stance.

“Mr... Uhm, how can I call you?”

“Evan will do.”

”Evan, okay, well... You want a drink?”

Eliot just stared at him, eyebrows raised. “You want to drink with me? I can drink with better company than yours, and if you parted with that much money just to meet me, well... your business.”

He turned, stepped towards the door but Smith grabbed his arm quickly.

”No, no, wait, please wait. I... I want more. I want more of the pictures. I need more of them. Can you get me more? I'll pay you a lot of money to get me more!”

“How much money?”

”The same I did before, but this time it's straight to you, so you would get her share on top of your own fee.”

With a truly horrifying smile, Eliot nodded at the mark. “That sounds interesting. You have any preferences considering age? Hair-color? Size?”

“Man, I did not hear that!” Hardison took his earpiece out. “I did not hear that, and I don't wanna hear that ever again. Ugh, man...” he stood and paced, went to the fridge, opened it and closed it again, than paced some more.

“Sit down, you make me nervous,” Nate murmured, still focused on the screen and the audio. Parker was absentmindedly picking and re-picking the lock on a cabinet and Sophie was in the bathroom, drying her hair after taking a shower.

He could hear the dry-blower.

”What? No, I want the same. The... he's perfect. I … I want him. More of him. Just him.”

“Well, I'm sorry, but that's not possible.”

”What? Why?”

“What? Why? Where's he going with this?” Sophie, apparently finished, stepped into the main room with her finger still fiddling the earpiece into her ear. “I thought we give him more until he's buried in this shit, until there's no way to get off clean! Nate, why did you change the plan?”

“I didn't, shut up,” he hissed. He was angry at Eliot, but then again, it was really his con, even though nobody seemed to realize it.

“Because, Mr Smith-” Eliot smirked out the name, clearly showing his disdain about such a crude alias “-he is burned. We did a couple of shots with him, the last ones you got in the last envelope. We can't use him anymore, too old, too smart. People started looking for him. Better for you to forget him. Everyone will.”

Evan Howard was still ready to leave but examined his hands, as if it was an unconscious gesture. Nate was pretty sure it was deliberate. This man didn't care one iota about the fact that he was talking about a boy, spoke as if he was talking about guns, drugs or something else dead, inanimate.

”But... no. No! You... you gonna... What?”

“Maybe I did not make myself clear here. He is burned! Burned merchandize gets disposed of. We can't keep him running around, you should know of the dangers that kind of crap poses.”

Sophie leaned over Nate's shoulder, her perfume this time unable to drag him down a happy, erotic memory-lane. He was too focused on the show they were getting, and Sophie was as well. “Damn, he's better than I ever gave him credit for...” she whispered.

If only she knew.

The mark was clearly devastated. He paced, scratched his head and wrung his hands, then started over again.

“I can still offer you something similar. Seeing as you liked him so well, I might even lower the price a little. Would be a rough one, anyway, our best products are getting a bit too hard-edged nowadays.”

”No, no. No substitute. You said you... dispose of him?” Eliot nodded ”Then... give him to me. Instead.” Winham straightened, clearly reaching a decision and for once showing the confidence they knew he possessed, the confidence he used to snare people like ducks and take them for all they were worth. ”I'll take him off your hands.”


	5. Chapter 5

Eliot laughed. Hard,cruel, but with a true hint of amusement. If that amusement was part of the character, or the part of the true Eliot who was happy that his con was working, Nate didn't know. It fit well with Evan Howard, though, so did it really matter?

“Right, of course. You're a funny man, Mr Smith, but I have a business to attend to. I think we better part ways now...”

”No, wait! Please, listen, just... listen. I... I have planned for this situation. Well, not exactly for this situation, but... if ever I … met the right... product. I have a place. It's perfect, perfectly safe. He would never leave. Never. I can assure you.”

Nathan felt his breath hitch. What? Where did that man have a ‘place’? He looked over at Hardison, who was already typing, shaking his head over and over. They hadn’t known about any place other than the obvious ones.

”If... and I wouldn't be offended if it were so, of course. So if you want to get proof, if you're willing to earn...” he scribbled a number on a piece of hotel stationary ”this much money, if you want that, meet me … Wednesday at the gas-station at Dwight-and Main-Street, just out of the city. I'll show you, put your fears to rest.”

He let Evan think about it, and it took a few minutes. Minutes in which Hardison chewed on his fingertips, in which Nathan drank more water than his bladder knew how to deal with – because Sophie had banned him from the mini-bar for as long as they were just watching, just in case – and minutes in which Parker munched on Hershey-kisses with delight, choosing carefully which one would be devoured next while Sophie absentmindedly nibbled on a kiss herself.

Minutes in which every single one of them was silent.

“All right. Ten in the morning acceptable?”

”Yes, of course. See you there, Mr... see you there, Evan,” the mark happily agreed. He'd have agreed to meet at midnight in a field, dancing naked in the moonlight, though, so it wasn't much of a surprise.

The team let out a breath, uncoiled like a trigger after the gun was un-cocked again. They weren't done yet, but it appeared that while Winham was a dirtbag, he wasn't overly intelligent or suspicious of strangers.

Stupidly so, considering what he had to lose.

Leaving the room, Eliot gave one last smirk to the cameras, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. Nathan shuddered, thinking how it would feel to be on the wrong side of that smirk, how the people Eliot had killed had felt when they'd seen it – when it was the last thing they saw.

He thought about the world, how it was possible that people like Winham lived there, how it could be filled with people like Eliot – or well, like the man Eliot Spencer had been before some little left-over part of the boy who went out to save his country had sat up and demanded attention in the shell.

He thought about all the real Evan Howard's out there, about the boys and girls who were exploited, traded, abused and killed all over the planet, and how few people really gave a damn. How the fucking police didn't care enough about the kids to take their witness down forever.

He thought about Sam, his big round eyes and his cute face when he'd still been healthy and fine, happily kicking a football through their yard. He thought about all the people who might have looked at his boy like he were prey, and he drowned the bile in a glass full of water, wishing it were Whiskey.

**

When they were back at Nate's apartment, he cornered Eliot, using the chance to get him alone while the others went out for food.

“Tell me what you're doing. Tell me why you're changing the plan! We had it all figured out, it was fine! Get the mark the pictures, get the mark out in the open with the pictures, get him public with this so the feds can't keep his dirty secrets anymore. What the hell are you thinking!”

“Calm down, man, I know what I'm doing...”

“Oh, do you?” Nate hissed, poking his finger against Eliot's chest, too angry and too concerned and in too bad a head-space to care about what he was doing “You know you offered him a kid, right? You still remember how those look? You still agree that it's not a good plan to give this man a child, sell a kid to him?”

Eliot snarled, a real snarl, a warning. Not the grumpy snarl Parker got for poking, or the annoyed snarl Hardison got when he was especially nerve-wracking. “Don't you poke me if you wanna keep your finger, Nathan, and don't dump your issues on me!”

“My issues? What the fuck are you talking about, whatever you're insinuating …”

“Stop pretending, man! You might forget I'm not a redneck hick who got hit one too many times, but I know your tells, Nathan. I know you get all absent when it comes to kids, I know you throw reason overboard. I fucking know, and because I know that, I'm doing your job here! And the fucking last thing I'll stand is getting the shit-talk from you for doing this fucking job!”

He pushed back, crowding into Nathan's personal space, glaring into his eyes with a chilling intensity. It raised Nate's blood-pressure to epic levels.

“Oh, what a lovely double-standard! You give me crap whenever I deviate from the plans, but you can do it and expect me to just shut up about it?”

“Ha! Talk about double-standard! So selling a street-urchin to some healthy couple, imported from Europe is fine with you, yes? But selling a pretend-kid to this man in order to take him out, to make his life hell is not? Fucking warped priorities, my friend!”

“That's not the same, and you know it,” Nate yelled back. “They didn't want to harm him, they just wanted to have a kid...”

“And did you ever check that? You ever check if they really just wanted Luca to be their kid? Never doubted their intentions? Really? Are you aware of what so many illegally adopted kids are adopted for? You ever think about how people can just order their perfect little angel from Russia these days? Pay a fee and be done with it – nobody would know about them, nobody who cares. Think about how Parker turned out, and she wasn't even mail-order! You think what happened to you and your son was bad – you have no idea what bad really entails! You live in a bubble-gum-world, Nate!”

The mention of Sam let all the anger, the self-loathing and self-destruction boil inside Nathan's skin and it erupted in a roar. “Shut up!” He shoved Eliot, hard, and it gave him great satisfaction that he'd surprised him enough to move him, to crack his skull against the wall.

It wasn't enough to stop Eliot's anger, though, probably just the opposite. “Why? Huh? Why the fuck ever should I? It seems to be the only language you understand these days! You think the world is crooked, yes, but you stop at seeing the evil that doesn't wear a suit. You see corporate bad, you see rich and powerful, but you refuse to see the bad that ordinary people possess. I know you do, because you still keep pretending that I'm a good man!”

His last words were hard and bitter and rang true, and he pushed Nate away but followed him right ahead, not giving him space at all, just moving them from one place to another.

They faced each other like wolves, snarling and snapping at the other's throat, ready to tear each other to tiny, bloody pieces. Except... that wasn't what Nathan wanted. And even though he didn't doubt that Eliot could do it, providing the right motivation, he was sure it was far from his mind as well. They were both tired, was all there was to it. Tired and stressed.

With a huff, Nathan released his breath, averted his gaze. It never paid to look a predator straight in the eyes, and it certainly didn't pay to do so with a stronger opponent. He swiped his hand over his face, felt the need for a drink rise in his gut, slowly crawling up like a caterpillar climbing a flower.

“You really think I don't know what I'm doing? Or that I forgot what's at stake?”The words were harsh, but Eliot's tone had mellowed. He sounded just as tired as he looked. “Ever wonder what he's been looking at from the envelope or where it came from? Yes? So remember that before you accuse me of not knowing the stakes.”

Of course Nathan had wondered. He knew it must have been something special to have the mark salivate so much about it. That wasn't what made his skin crawl, though. What made him want to take a shower whenever he allowed himself to think about it was that Eliot had known exactly what to give him, what to show Winham, how to get it.

It made him afraid of the man in front of him, and he didn't want that. He'd never been afraid of Eliot, always thought he knew him well enough to handle his anger, his guilt.

He wasn't so sure about that now.

“And while you're thinking already, think about what kind of man he is. Think about what kind of man we would let run free if the plan isn't bullet-proof. And then think about if it's smart to poke me after I just talked to this motherfucking asshole and smiled at him, before I even got to change out of this fucking suit!”

With a last hiss, Eliot duck-twisted away from him and stalked off, towards the door, already loosening the jacket.

Regret filled Nathan, because he knew how it could rattle you if you had an especially disgusting mark to con. How it rattled him, and he usually had the straight-up greedy and seedy to deal with, not men like Winham. And well... Eliot was right, he was doing Nathan's job. His and Sophie's, and Nate was the one with the plan, the one who held the strings... and he didn't. He didn't hold anything, Eliot did, but not the right kind of strings. He hadn't cooked up the plan, he'd usurped it. Nate owned it, and it was time to get it back.

Not just because it was his, but also because right now, Eliot would be feeling like Parker without her harness. Free-falling into the plan, into the picture with nobody who knew where he was going and how to get him out if it didn't work right.

Nathan knew that feeling all too well, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone.

And while he was sure that Eliot was used to working without a safety net, he was also part of their team. He was part of them, and he shouldn't have to remember how to work alone.

“Use my bathroom,” he called. “I think there's still some of your clothes left around here. Get clean, get dressed, get back here, because I need to know what you're doing. I need to, Eliot. Not just for myself.”

And maybe it was the sad-dog-look he used, or his tone or the words itself, but Eliot stopped, turned. He ran his hand over his hair, shook it out, disgusted after coming in contact with the slick stuff on it. Eliot looked weary, tired, and finally he nodded and stepped towards the staircase.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Nathan watched him climb it like an old man, weary step after step. Christ, he needed a drink.

**

“You're sure.”

“I am sure.”

“This is your plan?”

“No, it's yours. That’s why it’ll work.”

“I never planned to…”

“Details, man. Just details.”

“So you can get…”

“I can. I promise, nothing will happen. Believe me, I’d never do this if I had any doubts. Nate?”

“I believe you. I do. It’s… well. You know me. Issues, I guess.” He smirked. “But I believe you. I trust you. Go ahead, we’ll have your back.”

“Good.”

“Eliot-speak for ‘thanks’?”

“No, Eliot-speak for ‘good’.” But he grinned a little, and Nate knew it was close enough.

“So, you wanna tell them? Or should I?”

“Uhm… do we have to tell them beforehand?”

Companionable silence stretched between them, two men sitting on a couch with a cup of coffee. One Irish, one not.

Nathan was afraid to break it, but it had been nagging at him ever since Eliot'd brought it up.

“So... you think Luca might not be fine?” It hurt to think about it. It hurt to believe that the Morton's might have conned him, them. Might be hurting the little mop-haired boy.

“No.”

“But you said...”

“I checked. Don't worry about it. He's fine. He's not doing so well in maths, but who does, right?” A wink. “He likes Baseball, though. Can't imagine why...”

“I should have checked.” It didn't hurt so much admitting his oversight. Strange. Maybe his pride was slowly deteriorating?

“Yeah.”

And that was that.


	6. Chapter 6

Monday came and went, and Hardison tried to convert Eliot into a robot. At least he tried giving him so much technology that he would be able to play one.

“Hardison, this is ridiculous.”

“You say that now, man, but wait until you’re hip-deep in shit and you’ll be glad to have this little beacon here to tell us where you are.”

“If I’m hip-deep in shit, this thing will be covered in shit. So I hope it’s at least water-resistant. No? Well, why am I not surprised.”

“Seriously, why do you always bitch at my things. The ear-buds work fine-“

“If you’re not run over by a car and thrown into the harbor, you mean!”

“- and there it is, complaining, complaining. Bitch, moan, complain. Why don’t you just accept that I’m doing something brilliant here, and I’m doing it so we can get your sorry ass out of the fire, man?”

“Because-“

“Because he wouldn’t be Eliot if he did that.” Parker announced, still chewing her cereal on the kitchen-table. “Eliot needs to be grumpy.”

“I don’t need to be grumpy, Parker!”

“Sure you do. It’s like me needing to sit on a higher surface. Or Hardison to fiddle with his fingers or his little toys.” Eliot grinned at the unintentional pun. She turned to Hardison. “Just ignore it, I do it all the time.”

Eliot groaned, probably because the idea of Hardison ignoring him completely, all his threats and his growls, would make his life a nightmare. Nate smirked into his coffee.

“So, you all set then?” He interjected the still ongoing squabble after his cup was empty. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, though I doubt you’ll get much use from these. So far, Winham wasn’t the brightest, but he confessed to… did any of us know he had a place for this kind of thing?”

They all shook their heads. Nothing had turned up, not in the computer and not inside Winham’s house. It had come as a complete surprise and it still was.

“So, shows that he’s a paranoid bastard, at least with this thing. I won’t be carrying all these bugs, Hardison.”

“Well, at least try to keep as many as possible. We don’t wanna lose you to some perverted little weasel, man. He might take a liking to your girly locks.”

“You dissing my hair now?”

“I’d never, man, those are some damn fine pretty locks you have,” Hardison grinned and then squeaked when Eliot swung over the couch with one leap, smooth and quick and went after him.

“I’ll show you girly locks, nerd-man.”

Parker smiled a bright, happy smile and poured herself more milk when Eliot pinned Hardison on the floor, outright laughing when they nearly swept Sophie off her feet as she came back from whatever it was she’d been doing. Conning the city authorities to give her insight to the property-files on Malcolm Winston had been her assignment, but she'd long ago reported that she didn't find anything and now there was a suspicious-looking Gucci-bag dangling from her hand.

“Ow, stop it! Eliot, if you want to beat Hardison, please do it outside.”

“Why’m I never getting any sympathy here, not even from you, Sophie?”

“I’ll let you think about that,” Eliot smirked and reached out to get him up.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh. Go, punch something that’s not a geek, man, your fuse is shorter than ever…”

Before Eliot could snarl back, Nate interrupted. “That’s actually a good idea. Wouldn’t really do much good if you lost your patience with the mark tomorrow…”

He’d never tell that it scared him more to imagine Eliot would not lose is temper.

**

Wednesday came, and with it a whole lot of drizzle and fog. The day was cold and damp and Eliot had complained about the cold three or four times already, shivering in front of the gas-station and waiting for his business-partner. He was relatively calm, though, and they had good visual and audio on him. Lucille was parked on the parking-space of the adjoining fastfood-joint and though they had agreed to follow them and not leave Eliot out if sight, worry crept up in Nathan's gut.

“Here he comes,” Eliot drawled into the mic, un-hunched his shoulders and stood straight and arrogant, leaning against his car like Evan Howard would in his expensive but thin wool-coat.

The car – a beat up pickup, not the Lexus they had expected – rolled to a stop next to Eliot and Winham fell out of the high seat.

”Mr...Evan. Good morning. I'm so glad you agree-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Can we go on now, it's cold out here, Mr Smith.” Eliot walked towards his own, Parker-borrowed car, but Winham interrupted.

”Uh, well... since I need to show you my precautions, I must ask you to drive with me.”

Eliot changed course towards him, not even missing a beat.

...and change. I'll accompany you to the bathroom. It's... well, precaution. You should appreciate it.”

Evan Howard clenched his jaws but nodded, walking ahead of their mark into the station, towards the restrooms.

“Man, I'd love to know what the manager will think of Eliot and Winham walking into the bathroom together,” Hardison smirked, and Sophie made a face.

“If I were him, I'd definitely not think what you think, Hardison. Or if I did, I'd puke.”

“Why, what is he thinking?” Parker asked, and Hardison groaned.

“Well, he might think, theoretically, that it's... a business-transaction.”

“Ah, like a drug-deal?”

“Yes, exactly. I just hope he doesn't call the police...” The hacker frowned, actually worried now about that possibility. Still, the feed to the security-camera inside the station didn't show anything. The manager didn't even look up from his paper when the two men strolled by, one with definite city-attire, the other dressed like a man out to go fishing.

And it was really disconcerting that it wasn't the mark who wore the suit.

“Will you stop talking about 'business-transaction' when I'm about to undress in front of that asshole?” Eliot hissed, and everyone inside the van grinned wide but wisely kept their mouths shut.

“Hardison, will he find the bugs?”

“Naw, don't worry. They're safely stored in buttons and shit like that, even in the shoes. Won't find them, but well... they'll be gone if he makes Eliot leave all that.”

”Please change into these here, and put your clothes in this bag. We'll leave it with your car.”

“He's confident,” Sophie murmured. “I don't like it when a mark's confident.”

“I think we can all agree to that sentiment, Soph...”

“What, even the boxers?”

”I assure you, the ones I brought are brand-new. As are the socks. And the boots.”

“Damn, he's making him take off everything.”

“That's bad, right?” Parker asked, a hint of worry in her voice. “But we'll be able to find him anyway, right?”

“As long as we can stay in range with the ear-bud, we'll be fine. Might be hard to have visual, though, now that this asshole's gotten paranoid.”

“Sshh, they're moving.”

“Are you satisfied? I look like a fucking cowboy!”

”Don't worry about your beautiful coat, it'll still be there, I'm sure. And if not, I will refund you...”

“Oh, I'm sure you will, Mr Smith, I'm sure.”

”After you, Evan.”

The camera picked them up again once they were leaving the restrooms, now both dressed like men out to go fishing. Eliot looked a lot more relaxed in his clothes than he did in the coat and suit, but before Nate could utter a warning, Sophie whispered in her comm. “Eliot, you're a city-guy. You don't feel comfortable in this attire.” On the screen, Eliot's stance got stiffer and he started adjusting his jeans and checkered shirt. “Good,” she smiled, proud. “Just imagine you're wearing the suit again.”

“Now what, you wanna put a bag over my face?”

”Oh no, Evan, I'm sure that's not necessary.” The two men were just inside the dead spot of the cameras, slightly to the left behind Winham's car. ”I think this would be much more comfortable, yes?”

“A sleeping-mask? Seriously?”

“It's ok, man, we still got your GPS from the ear-buds. Just go along.” Hardison reassured, though Nate wasn't convinced that their partner would be worried at all. If push came to shove... well, there weren't many people out there better at pushing and shoving than Eliot.

“Ok, guys, lets give them fifteen minutes head-start. Will the fog influence the signal?”

“It shouldn't.”

“That's hardly reassuring, Hardison...”

“Doesn't matter anyway, Sophie. I bugged his car.”

“What?”

All three looked at Parker, who shrugged. “What, what? I put one of these little fiddly tracker-things on his bumper while they were playing dress-up.”

How the hell they hadn't noticed her slipping out of the van and back in again was beyond Nate, but he just nodded at her and said “Good work.”

What else could he say?

“Sophie, you take the wheel. Hardison, keep them in sight. Let's go, people, we don't wanna lose them.”

**

They'd followed the tracker out into rural Massachusetts , over side-roads and then off the asphalt and onto dirt-tracks. They didn't wonder about the pick-up now, instead hoping that their prey wouldn't suddenly turn around and spot them. There wasn't even a snowballs chance in Hell that Lucille would be considered an ordinary vehicle on these roads.

Twice, Nate asked Eliot for signs of life, getting a grunt or a huffed complaint as answer. The mark was silent, only apologizing now and then for potholes or sharp turns. Since the crew was still about fifteen minutes behind, it was a nice early-warning system, and Lucille's suspension would surely appreciate that.

”All right, we're here. You can take off the mask, Mr Evan.”

The van slowed down, Sophie unconsciously lowering the speed but she caught herself quickly and pressed back on the gas. They'd find a spot to hide, near the location Winham considered safe.

“That's mightily kind of you,” Eliot snarled, clearly not in a good mood. “It's fucking cold, why couldn't I at least bring my coat?”

”You can borrow my jacket, but we're not going to stand outside long. I'm also not so sure your thin coat would really help with this weather.” Winham sounded happy, giddy with anticipation. He wanted to please Eliot – Evan Howard – but he was not a man who was good at this kind of things. Good thing Eliot didn't care one way or another, Nate thought.

They heard the two men enter a house, heard Winham putter around in the room while Eliot seemed to wander, taking everything in.

“It's nice and cozy.” Irony was dripping from Eliot's voice. He sounded like an asshole. Very convincing. Too convincing? “But I don't think this is safe enough...”

”Oh, this is just.. well, it's just the basics. Follow me, I'll show you what I have prepared. You'll be delighted, I can assure you.”

Clearly unimpressed, Eliot sniffed. “Yeah, well, we'll see.”

”Just follow me, this way. You'll see, everything is perfect.”

“Eliot,” Nate murmured into the comm, “you get a bad feeling, you get out. Take him out if needs be,” or if you feel that way remained unsaid but very probably understood “and get the hell out. We're still not at a safe location, and from where Hardison figured we'll lay low, it's at least five minutes to that house. Don't … well. Don't do anything incredibly stupid.”

“I could take this guy blindfolded and with my hands tied to my feet, Nate, don't worry.” Eliot was whispering, clearly alone enough to dare talking with them. Then his voice turned up again. “Oh, nice trapdoor. Well-placed, Mr Smith, I admit.”

Trapdoor? What... Nathan refused to think about what was hidden under the door, or at least tried to avoid it. Still, there were too many ugly possibilities and he could feel the bile once more rising inside, the sickness spreading through his guts. He needed a drink, but right now wasn't the time to indulge his needs.

“How far, Sophie?”

“Not much further, Hardison said-”

“Shit, goddamnit, Eliot? Eliot, you hear me? Eliot!”

“Hardison, what is it?”

“What's happened?”

“Don't distract me, if I crash the car, I doubt AAA even knows this...road exists!”

“Hardison, speak up,” Nate interrupted the agitated chatter.

“I lost his signal, Nate. It was... it was just there, and then suddenly not. Lost audio as well. This... I don't like this, Nate. I really have a bad feeling 'bout this.”


	7. Chapter 7

He could feel panic start to bubble up inside the van. Could feel the tension, floating from Hardison who was typing like crazy on his computer to do God knew what, drafting from Parker who sat stock-still and chewed on her fingernails and whispering up from Sophie, who'd finally found their perfect hiding-place and was now twitching on her seat , playing with the car-keys and clearly desperate to start Lucille again, to run to the rescue.

Well, as much as they could, since the man who usually had their backs for these kind of things wasn't with them.

Nate felt himself absorbing the tension, felt his muscles stiffen and his brain start into overdrive. Deliberately, he told it to shut up, then told them to shut up as well.

“Guys, guys, come on. We can't go in there guns blazing. It'd ruin everything, and we can't risk that, not at this stage.”

“Nate-”

“No, Sophie. We can't. And it's not about me just sticking to the plan no matter what. It has to do with logic. Guys, a second before we lost the GPS, we talked to Eliot. He was certain he could deal with things. I trust his assessment.”

“It wouldn't be the first time he was wrong.”

“Really? When was the first time?” Parker interrupted. Everyone started at her. “What? I'm just asking!”

“Uh... I don't know. Dubenich I guess? Being lured to a bomb?”

“Oh.... yeah, ok, that would count.”

“What do you mean, Nate, with logic?”

He was glad Sophie interjected. Sometimes, Hardison and Parker gave him a headache. “We talked to him, just before he went down into a basement that's... well, I guess it was prepared to hold... someone...” A kid, a boy, a little child, someone like Sam his heart unhelpfully screamed at him. He told it to stop. “...Someone for a long time. Secure and safe.”

“Aaah, that... that makes sense, yes.” Hardison swiveled on his chair and was already typing furiously, mumbling abut boosting this or tweaking that... Nate didn't really care. “Yeah, okay, I got it back. Just the signal, no audio. But yeah, you were right. It's the... the room, I guess.” He swallowed, licked his lips and wiped his mouth. “It's soundproof, and probably has lead-enforced walls. It's... well. A vault.”

“A safe... for a kid.” Sophie whispered. “That is wrong on so many levels.”

Nate couldn't agree more, but right now, he had to pull himself together. They all depended on him to keep his cool, to stay detached. Or at least detached enough to function. He glanced over at Parker, who'd been deceptively silent. She'd gone pale, you could see it even in the artificial light of the car.

“Parker?” he tried to rouse her, and to his surprise, she snapped back to them at once.

“There is no safe I can't crack.”

Wherever she'd gone, whatever bad place she'd visited, she had come to a decision, the conclusion that whatever was inside that room, if all else failed, she would be able to open it.

Silently, Nate prayed to God that she wouldn't have to.

“Okay...” He cleared his throat, wishing for whiskey. “We give Eliot... five more minutes. Then we'll start the car and go find him. If he's not on audio again in five minutes, the con's off and we... find an alternative.”

Nate'd never killed a man. Came close, oh yes, he came close, but he'd never done it.

He might do it today. And he was pretty okay with that idea.

**

Lucille's engine had just rumbled to life when Eliot's voice returned to their comms. “That's really very impressive, Mr Smith. We might come to an agreement after all...”

”I'm very happy to hear that, Mr Evan. Would you like a.. Winham stopped, maybe remembering the last time he offered a drink to this man, or maybe just catching a glare from Eliot. ”... Uhm, I'll bring you back to your car.”

“That is too kind of you.” Eliot sneered, arrogance dripping from his voice. “Do you want me to put the mask back on?”

”Well... yes. I do.

“Fine. Try to avoid the potholes this time.”

For a few moments more, the team was silent, waiting. When they heard the rumble of a starting car, they let out a collective breath.

“Okay guys, here's is what we do... ”

**

When it was clear that Eliot had been taken back to the gas-station safely, Nate was relieved. It wasn't that he doubted his hitter could take that sleazy asshole, but it felt wrong to sit in the van miles away and just listen in.

The deal hadn't yet been made but Evan Howard would call Winham in a day to arrange it. “So, the price stands, yes? Six million dollars?”

”Yes, six million. Would you want it cash?”

Eliot hesitated.

“Your call,” Nathan murmured, glad the van's equipment could boost the ear-buds' range far enough to still be in contact. It didn't really matter how the money would be exchanged. They already had access to Winham's accounts, had had it the moment he'd paid Sophie.

“Well, that'd be really your call now, would it?” Eliot shot the ball back into the mark's half, “seeing as it would be you who leaves the trails?”

”Oh, don't worry about me, Mr Evan. But since you don't have any preference, it seems, I'll bring you half in cash and half will be wired. Is that all right?”

“Fine. Now, I have a meeting to get to. Nice doing business with ya.” Nate and Sophie could hear him walk away, unlocking and slipping into the car, starting it up and pulling out quickly.

“Meet you at the office,” was all he spoke, then the comm went silent.

**

Sometimes, Boston traffic was a curse. When they finally returned, Eliot sprawled on the couch, a large pot of coffee in his hand and his hair still damp from a shower. Apparently, letting him use the private bathroom once now counted as a general convenience... On the stove, something delicious was gurgling, so it seemed Eliot had used the time they were still in the woods and later stuck in a pile-up on Storrow Drive by keeping his hands busy. And use the impressive knife-set he'd given Nate as some kind of present, which Nate still didn't know who it had really been for. He could barely cook Spaghetti.

“Ouuuuh, there's food!” Parker skipped to the stove like she hadn't eaten half of Hardison's gummy-frogs in the van. “What is it?” Before any kind of answer, she opened the lid, letting it fall down right away when she burned her fingers. “Ouch!”

“Hot.” Eliot drawled, a lazy grin on. He seemed...well, fine. Mostly fine, though a little tired. “It's not finished, Parker, needs to cook for about twenty minutes.”

Sophie settled down on the left side of the couch, dropping her shoes – the sensible, low-heeled ones – and curling up like a satisfied cat. Nate wished he could grab her and hold her close, drown himself in her scent and patience. But this wasn't the time.

He poured himself a glass, sighing when the smooth, smokey tinge crept into his blood and warmed his insides. Pretended not to see Sophie's scowl.

“Eliot?”

“You been down there?” Hardison shook his head, as did Parker. He'd given them just half an hour to bug the porch and living-room, hadn't wanted to send anyone of them into that basement and too wary to go himself. He'd figured they could go back any time they needed.

It was a cabin, for fishing or hunting. Well-stocked with supplies, a television, DVDs, books. No weapons or anything suspicious. A bedroom, a kitchenette. Convenient and simple, yet a bit more than just the basics.

“I found why we didn't know about it,” Hardison interrupted. He'd been doing his magic the whole way back, and now he looked smug. “It's not in his name, or in his company or anything. It's been bought in the name of ...uh” he typed on his I-Pad “James Connor Luckland. Guy is real, as far as I can figure out, or he's a really good ghost. Got social security, health-insurance, an address in New Jersey and a small business – installing sun-screens and bug-nets for windows. Only way to verify it for sure would be to pay him a visit...”

“I don't think that's necessary now. We should leave something for the cops to do, they might feel left out otherwise,” Nate grinned. “Think we should get McSweeten and Taggert get the case?”

Parker let herself drop over the backrest of the couch, falling half on Eliot, half on Hardison. “Oh yes, Todd's cute.”

“What? Girl, you don't say stuff like that when I'm sitting right here!”

“Why not? It's true. Sophie thinks so too.”

“Oh, you do?” Nathan inquired, but he smiled. As surely as McSweeten would never know how to deal with Parker, he'd be eaten alive by Sophie Devereaux. Sophie smiled back at him, lazy and sure. Oh damn, that woman had him hook, line and sinker. One smile, and he had to fight every instinct to not run over there and... uh. Yeah. Not do that.

“Parker! I thought... I mean...” It was a little heartbreaking to see Hardison trying to define what they were, what that meant, without chasing her away by making too many demands. Alec didn't want to tie her down, yet couldn't always follow where she went.

“Parker, men don't like it if women tell them another man is cute. They feel like we don't pay attention to them, or might chose someone else over them.”

Parker just stared back at Sophie, uncomprehending, then she grinned. “Ah, no, why would they. Hardison wouldn't. Right?” She turned her head so she could look her … boyfriend? - in the eyes. “Right?”

“Uh, yeah, of course. Not. Of course not, ha ha, noooo, why should I... about Todd... naaw, not me. Uh-uh” Smooth looked different, but it was apparently enough for her to wiggle further into Hardison's lap. Eliot tried to keep her feet away from his own legs, but she just put them back against him. With a sigh, he untied her shoes to at least get the dirt off his jeans.

“Man, if I'd have known this is going to be partner-therapy, I'd have brought something to read,” he growled, but there was no heat behind it. Nate smiled. Pussy-cat.

He hated to interrupt, but still... “All right. Do we need to postpone the debriefing?”

“Don't think so.” They were back on track, everyone sat up straighter and even Parker gave up her position. Hardison pouted a little, but Eliot seemed glad to have her feet away from him. She tended to kick when excited. “And the food will keep for a day anyway.”

“Uh, reassuring. So... what about the basement?” Nate poured another drink, then settled in one of the armchairs – bottle on the floor – resting his elbows on his thighs.

“It's... well. A room. Nothing bad or anything. Just a room. For a kid. With toys – cars and such things” he added, and Nate poured himself another shot. “Television, books, that kind of stuff. A fridge, a microwave. No windows, a huge lock on the door.”

Parker perked up. “What kind?”

“Uh...” his eyes flitted while he tried to remember. “Timmons? Timetron? Something like that?”

“Hm, Timmerman?” When he nodded, she smiled. “It's a good one. Keypad or dial?”

“Dial.”

“Okay, no problem.” Parker thought a moment. “Sixteen seconds, tops. I could've gone in there in no time.” She frowned at Nathan, but he refused to feel guilty.

“Yeah... well. That's it. It's... a secure room.” Eliot shrugged, like that kind of thing was common occurrence to him. It might be, but Nate spotted the little twitch in his eyelid. He treasured it, stored it away, this little sign of discomfort. He might need the reminder of it if the plan ran its course. If all went right, he could easily forget.

“So... what's the plan, then. I mean, apparently the initial idea was cast aside – without us knowing about it,” Sophie glared first at Nate, than at Eliot. Ho unfair! It hadn't been his idea!

Eliot sighed, ready to explain but Nathan dropped in before the first word.

“If we'd just given him over to the cops with the pictures, it would have been too insubstantial to make a solid case. He could claim he didn't know, or that he wanted to take them down himself.” He stopped, looked at his team. Eliot nodded while Sophie stared unbelieving at them.

“That's... who would believe that?”

“It happened before,” Eliot drawled, and this time it was Hardison who nodded.

“Yeah. Everyone knew it was bullcrap, but … there was no evidence. So...”

“Oh my God! What if Winham skates by the same?”

“He won't,” Nate answered. “We'll make sure of that.” He gave a short smirk, then started explaining.

The food burned on the stove.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, it's getting a bit... uh, dark? I mean, it's not a surprise, right, if you've been following this, so you SHOULD be okay, but I'm just saying.

They demanded three days from Winham, who happily agreed. It made Nate sick to remember his eagerness when he got the call, directed to a throwaway-phone like the other's had been before. Eliot had said he needed the time to prepare the bait, which sounded so hard and cold that Sophie had stared at him with questioning, wide eyes. He'd left quickly after that, probably with a legitimate excuse but it still looked like flight.

From that incident on, while all of them prepared for the final coup, the big resolution of their plan, the payback, Eliot'd been mostly absent from the apartment. But when Nathan came up from the bar where he'd tried to forget the things they were about to do, he could hear his voice through the half-open door.

For some unexplainable reason, he stopped outside and listened, peeking in like a little kid who tries to catch Santa Claus.

Parker was with him, puttering around, touching things, taking them and putting them back down. She was clearly agitated while Eliot sagged in the armchair, legs sprawled out, sunken shoulder-deep into the cushions.

“Parker, speak,” he drawled, and she stopped moving, slipping over to the couch where she curled up farthest from him.

“I don't like it,” she admitted, not looking at Eliot. “It's not... I don't like it.”

Eliot sighed but didn't sit up. “I know. I don't like it either.”

“Then why do you do this?” She looked at him now, Nate assumed, since her head went up from where it had before rested on her knees. “Why... I don't understand. He's... he's just...”

“Parker...” once more, Eliot sighed. He wasn't meeting her eyes, looked at the tips of his boots. “We need to get Winham. He's... he needs to be stopped. With his status as a federal witness, he's so valuable that ...”

“I know!” she hissed. “I'm not an idiot! I get that he needs to be stopped, but ...Why don't you just kill him?”

Nate felt his heart stop beating. For a long, long, eternal moment, he stopped breathing until it hurt. Eliot hadn't moved, and maybe her question had hit him like it had Nathan, or maybe not, it was impossible to tell.

“You said we can do things the other's can't. Why not... this?”

Cheeks blown out, Eliot exhaled noisily then scratched his head. He still didn't look at her and if Nate had to guess, he'd say he was contemplating her suggestion. It'd probably be a good guess.

“I could, yeah.” he scratched his eyebrow. “Wouldn't be a problem. Make him disappear, nothing to find, ever. But...” Now he did look up, right at her. “If I do that, it's all there is to it. He'd be dead – that's all.”

“I think that's plenty,” she whispered, arms hugging her knees. But she was meeting his gaze. “Don't you think it's plenty?”

“I used to think that. Yeah.”

“But not anymore?”

He smirked. “I think it's a really kind ending for some people.”

Parker shifted, but she kept her pose, only raising her head a little. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah...”

“I want him in the dust. If I kill him, he's dead, gone. Just like that,” he snipped his finger. “Over. I don't know if there's hell for people like him, but I don't wanna take the chance. If I kill him... he'd stay a mystery. People'd look for him, think about him. Miss him! That's... he doesn't deserve that.”

Nate could see Parker nod, uncoil from her position. Before she could do more, though, she froze, cocked her head and Eliot picked her tell right up, like a dog picks up a scent, tensing, shifting in the chair so he could move up and out in not even seconds. Just moments later, Nate heard someone on the stairs, Hardison, and before things could get awkward, he moved as well, pretending to come home just then.

**

Sophie hissed, teeth clenched tightly. She'd not shared the bed with Nathan the whole time it had taken to prepare everything, and now that the final call had been made and Eliot had set up the deal, she was even angrier than she'd been the day he'd explained the con. “I still can't believe we're doing this!”

Nate was so tired of it. “Would you believe me if I said I can't either?” He didn't want to be the Bad Guy here.

Today, they would see something only Hardison had ever seen a glimpse of. Not, as they probably still believed, their hitter in action, or a soldier. Not even a killer. Today, they'd see the Eliot Spencer that was capable of working for Damien Moreau. In all his glory.

He doubted, though, that it would change his own perception of good and bad in a fundamental way.

“I... Well, yes. But still, how... how can we do that?”

“Sophie... I wish for everything that I have, for everything I ever owned that we didn't have to. This is a sure way to get Winham down, get him so deep down that nobody will ever dig him up! I want that. I want that so bad, and still, I'd give anything to do this another way. Eliot said there won't be any problems from his end. He promised there won't be. I believe him, I do.”

“You trust him?”

“With this? Yes. Absolutely.” It surprised him that he was telling the truth.

Sophie sighed, and some of the tension left her face. She'd looked so harsh the last days, so distant and cold. Still more beautiful than any woman he'd ever seen, but the life that usually lived behind her eyes had been tuned down so much that he'd feared to get frostbite from her look.

“I guess I do, too.” She admitted. “I just...”

“You don't want to know it, right?”

“No. No, I really don't. You think … we'll all be okay?”

That was an interesting question. “Parker, yes. I think she gets it better than anyone. Hardison... I don't know.” He laughed a little. “I think he'll be okay, eventually. The thing is, we all like him. We all try to ignore the big, deadly tiger in the room. But we all know it's a tiger, we just like to pretend it's a tabby. Don't worry, Soph, I'm pretty sure, sooner or later we'll forget again.”

She huffed, looked away, following the people outside the window with a distant gaze. “I know.”

**

“All right, we've got visual in the car, two GPS-trackers, audio.” Hardison wiped his hands, probably from the grime of the pick-up, or maybe unconsciously from having touched the possessions of a man like Winham. “Parker installed them, I bet ya not even a police-dog would sniff them,” he beamed, and Nathan adjusted his assessment. Apparently, he'd underestimated Hardison's knack for taking things in stride and moving on. ADHD at its finest.

Nate didn't feel bad about it, people underestimated this guy all the time.

Parker had followed right behind, grinning from one ear to the other, but it was a dark grin, full of nastiness. She hopped on the counter and dangled her feet, clearly happy with her accomplishments today.

“I have my little cyber-surprise on a timer,” Hardison went on “in four hours, the cops get all access to the sites I've found, with all the details they need. Names, server-ID, location... everything. They can just go collect them like …. dunno, man, rotten fruit or something. Anyway, Parker called McSweety,” he huffed the name “and all's set. From our end, we can start now.”

“Good. Sophie leaked some hints to the press. We're all set.”

“So where's Eliot?”

“Aah. Well. He's taking care of … things.”

“You mean he's punching things? Or the other...things?”

“The other things.”

They didn't speak for a while. “And Sophie?”

“She'll be back soon, she called a few minutes ago that she's on her way.”

“So... we're all set. Just... waiting?”

“That's basically it, yeah.”

 

**

”Mr … Evan!” Winham beamed when Eliot stepped out of his car, hurrying over from his pick-up. He was so high on anticipation that he didn't even comment on the clothes his business-partner was wearing – the same attire he'd outfitted him with the last time they met.

They were meeting in front of a warehouse, the camera picking them up easily. The team was already inside the van, ready to jump into action, dressed up as FBI-agents just in case they had to intervene.

“Mr Smith. Money?” Eliot didn't exchange any pleasantries, physically blocking Winham the access to the car.

”Yes, yes, of course. Do you have a...” he nodded when Eliot pulled up a smartphone and started typing things into his own. ”There, done. The cash's in my car...”

“And what's it doing in there?”

”Oh, oh... I'll get it, I will... yeah” He rushed over, grabbing a suitcase which he presented to Eliot. ”Do you need to count it?”

“No, no time for that. I need to be back at two, so lets hurry this up.”

”Back? Bu-but... I thought...”

“What? That I give you the package and let you just leave, so I can get picked up by the cops? I sure hope you didn't think that, because I don't deal with idiots,” Eliot sneered, arrogant, confident and oozing disdain.

”Ah, no, of course not... uh.. no. Bu... Okay, okay. So, you'll … take the front seat? And I just got one mask...”

“Doesn't matter, kid'll have no use for the scenery anyway.” Eliot turned around to his car, opened the door and pulled someone out.

The team inside the van stopped breathing.

**

They hadn't seen the kid. Up until this moment, Nate had held some distant hope that it was all a kind of con, that there wouldn't be an actual kid, an actual little boy. It seemed most of his team had thought the same.

“Holy... he's...” Sophie breathed though she didn't need to be silent. Eliot wasn't wearing his ear-bud, said he needed a chatter-free mind and since he was bugged to high-heavens anyway, as was the car, Nathan had agreed. The bastard had probably known what the sight of the boy would elicit and chosen not to hear if they decided to bitch him out. And they would, if it'd do any good.

The kid looked ten, maybe eleven. Dark-blond mop of curls over big, light eyes, though they couldn't pick up the real color. Maybe green, maybe blue, or gray. He was slightly built and hugging himself, gaze flinching back and forth like a fox-cub caught in a trap. Didn't look like Sam, but at the same time did, like every little boy did these days. The kid was huddled inside a huge sweater that made him look even smaller, and which also reminded Nate that this was not real, that Eliot wasn't really gonna give this man the boy.

It was Eliot's sweater.

“If I ever end up in prison, at least I know what for,” Hardison murmured and they all nodded in agreement. This was so much worse than anything they'd done before, so much darker, dirtier. Every ending to the job would leave them stained, all of them, though some of them a bit more.

Maybe Eliot thought it didn't matter after a certain amount of dirt on him anyway, but Nate didn't believe that.

“Yeah... let's get this show running. Buckle up, I'm driving.”

Outside, Evan Howard had pulled the boy with him, dumped him in the backseat of the pick-up and donned the sleeping mask after sitting down in the front. “You shut your trap, boy, or this ends here with a blade in your eyes. Got me?”

The whimper felt like shards of glass inside Nathan's stomach.


	9. Chapter 9

The plan was simple. Basically, it was the same as it had been with just the pictures: get the man his merchandise then get the cops to take him down. And get the press right along with them.

Only thing that gnawed on Nate was that for this plan, they had to leave the kid inside the house, all alone. They had to, though, for the evidence to be convincing and airtight, even though he'd thought long and hard how to avoid that. In the end, nothing that wouldn't leave a trace sprang to mind and he had to give up and give in. Hadn't slept well, of course, but then again, he'd slept shitty the whole time since they started on this job. Considering the amount of dark eye-bags, he wasn't the only one on the team.

The drive had been uneventful and Winham had taken the direct route, not all the twists and turns he'd made the first trip to the cabin. Quickly, he pulled up at the house, neatly wired up to have excellent surveillance everywhere but in the secure room.

The team had started driving the moment Eliot'd settled in his seat, used the head-start to already be in position on a fire-safety road a few minutes north of Winham's cabin, invisible from there. Now, Sophie, Hardison and Nate sat in the van in front of the screen, watching the two men exit from the pick-up.

“C'm on, boy,” Eliot snarled, dragging the kid after him. “Don't have all day!”

”What's his name?” Winham inquired, a step in front to unlock the door. No alarm-system, which made sense when you thought about what he had to hide. Not a smart idea to have security sniffing around whenever Winham wasn't there.

“What, you wanna exchange pleasantries now? I'm in a rush here, now stop quagging and just open the fucking door.”

Winham stopped, turned around and glared. ”I bought him! I paid you a big sum, and I bought the right to get to know him. You're here as my guest,” he hissed ”and as my guest, you bend to my rules.”

The camera inside the porch-light had no problem picking up Eliot's shifting expression, nor the terrified eyes of the boy. God, what had they done. What were they doing?

”Now, what's his name?” He looked at the boy with a gentleness in his eyes that mad Nathan want to hurl, get out there and rip his throat out with his bare hands. ”What's your name, son?”

“E...Eliot. My name's Eliot, Mister,” the kid whispered, and on the seat next to Nate, Sophie exhale audibly.

“Lord... where did this child come from?”

“Shh...” He gestured at her to be quiet, ignoring her look even though it itched between his shoulder-blades. They kept listening.

“You heard him. Now, would you be so kind, Mr Smith, to open this door and get us out of the open, please?” The real Eliot sounded as if he was at the end of his patience, speaking through clenched teeth. Winham was either oblivious or didn't care, but he still opened the door and let them all inside, the big Eliot shoving the little one inside ahead of him, hand clamped on his shoulder.

“Hardison...”

“On it.” A little click and snick and the screen now showed the visual from the camera on the inside-door-frame, wide-angle to take in the whole room.

There wasn't much to see as the two men stepped over to the couch which was shoved away by Winham, exposing a trapdoor that fit so exactly under the furniture that Nathan was sure it had been bought for that exact purpose.

Winham went first, and for a moment, the boy was alone with Eliot who hitched him up and carried him down the steep steps.

It didn't take longer than a few minutes until the two men appeared back inside the living-room. While Winham rearranged the couch, Eliot wiped his hands in his jeans, clenching and un-clenching his fists, clearly itching for a fight.

“So, I've got food in the truck and some more stuff, I have the weekend off and...”

“Do I really look like I care?”

”Uh... well, let's get you back to your car.”

Winham ushered Eliot out, glancing once more around the room, gaze lingering longingly on the couch and what was underneath. He closed the door and locked up.

Nathan exhaled.

“Okay, lets get moving. Call Parker.”

**

Of course it didn't go as planned.

Eliot called half an hour before he was even due back at his car. They hadn't paid attention to the mic, their main-focus on the feds and the cabin and how to bring it all together at the right time. They couldn't have answered him anyway, with just one-way communication.

“That fucker just dropped me at the next town, told me to grab a cab! Nate, make sure he isn't alone with him. Don't know how, don't care. Run him over if you have to, but don't let him into his cabin!” He sounded pissed-off and worried, a dangerous combination. “Fuck, now I have to steal myself a fucking car....”

Nate refrained from telling him not to, they had it, no need to be caught with a stolen vehicle in between a bunch of FBI agents. It wouldn't do much good to mention it, though, so he saved his breath.

“I got it,” he said instead, disconnected and dialed right again. “Parker, he's gonna be here early. Get them moving quicker.”

“How'm I supposed to do this, Nate,” she hissed back, whispering so she probably wasn't able to speak freely. “I've got trouble explaining my deal as it is. The top-secret-undercoveragent works for Todd, but there's more than just him around here!”

“You'll figure it out. I trust you.” He closed the call. “Sophie?”

“Heard you,” she spoke in his ear “But I can't do anything. I'm Anna Blockard, he'll recognize me right away.”

“Ah, shit, I forgot about that!” He slapped the side of the van, got a reproachful “Hey!” for that from Hardison.

Hardison...

“Hardison, get out here. Sophie, take the comm and... well, do the stuff he does.”

“What? Oh, okay. Alec, what...”

“Uh, man... I don't... Okay, Sophie, just keep the ear-bud in and listen to the mic, that here's Eliot. And... don't touch anything else unless I tell you. It should all be fine, no need to touch anything.”

“Come on, guys!”

His brain was already running in overdrive. Best play would be a fight with his wife – he quickly disrobed from his FBI-jacket – but that was out. And the two of them being gay partners wouldn't really fly. Maybe... fishing-buddies? Something like that. How they'd explain the lack of a car was a mystery yet, but maybe they could tell the mark...

“Hardison, listen. You've been walking for an hour now, your neighbor and friend Nate refused to take the Navigation System with him and you're sick and tired of it. You want a shower and you're bitching him out,” Sophie picked his unspoken ploy right up. Hardison went with it, already dusting his clothes with sand from the road and sticking a few leaves into his hair. A bit much, maybe, but he could always claim to have wandered off the road for a piss.

Quickly, Nate followed the lead. A few quick scratches with his shoes into the dirt, grass-stains on his pants and some dust into his face. Perfect.

Now, he just hoped their mark would stop for them. He should, it'd be a bad idea to have strangers stumble around his property when he had... other plans.

“When's the FBI here, Sophie?” He interrupted himself before his mind could start imagining just what this sick fuck would be planning for today.

“Uh... I don't … know. Hardison?”

It never ceased to amaze him how he could just talk to the air and get an answer right into his brain. He sometimes even felt weirdly alone when the comm was out.

“Parker said about thirty minutes out. Winham should be in sight in … uhm,” he quickly calculated something on his phone “Ten minutes, max.”

“Nate? If he ain't stopping? What am I supposed to do?”

God, what if he didn't stop? Goddammit, why the hell could marks not stick to the plan!

“Nate? Eliot's swearing bloody murder into his mic. If you don't have a better idea, I'm picking up his suggestion and driving the van right into his car!”

“Lucille?” Hardison squeaked, but then frowned and pursed his lips. “Yeah, guess that's gonna stop him. But man, why do we always have to hurt my van! We should really invest in a tank or somethin, I'm just sayin'...”

**

It didn't even take ten minutes until Winham's car was visible around the corner. Hardison and Nate had wandered to the path that led to his cabin, waiting for him just at the junction so he couldn't possible miss them. Since they seemed to be on the way right towards the cabin, it was unlikely he'd just ignore them.

“What … Hey, people, what are you doing here. This is private property!” Winham glared at them out of his car, window rolled down.

“Thank God, I wus just about ready to kick this man's ass here. Can you fucking believe that man?”

“Oh, shut up, Walter, just stop your bitching, I'm sick and tired of being made the bad guy here,” Nate responded, pissed and weary at the same time.

“You're tired? You... did... man, did you hear that, that man has a nerve to say he's tired!” Hardison tended to get a little overboard whenever he tried to grift, but he had talent. Raw talent, but talent nonetheless. Maybe he should take lessons with Sophie.

“Walter...”

“No, don't 'Walter' me, my man! You been dragging me through this wilderness for the whole last hour and I just want to get home, man! I don't even care about your stupid, high-end country-club anymore.”

“Look, people, I'm really ...”

“Oh, yes, sir, please, for the love of Pete, can you give us a lift? I'd even settle for just giving him a lift. I'm perfectly fine here myself...”

“Uh-uh, no, no, no, Rufus. You aint ditching me with some hillbilly-yokel! No offence,” he turned towards Winham, who mock-smiled at him. “I ain't leavin' your side 'till I got my girl back in my arms, man. So, man, you got a lift for two of us?”

“Look, as I was trying to say...”

“What, you think I wanna stay here? Walter, I want to go home just as much as you...”

“I severely doubt that, my friend, I've met your wife, remember?”

“...” that actually left Nate speechless. Sure, it fit with the play they were doing, but did Hardison mean Meggie? Or … maybe Sophie? Or was he just acting...

Winham had finally had enough of their fight, got out of the car to yell at them “Ey! Shut up, you two!”

They obeyed, though Hardison opened his mouth to continue. Winham's lifted finger stopped him right away again, though.

“I'm not giving you two idiots a lift. I just got here, I'm stressed as hell from my fucking job, and if you don't leave my property right-the-fuck now, I'm going to sue your asses so hard you'll be sharing a bridge in the near future. Got me?”

Hardison gulped, nodded. Nate did as well, but they needed more time ”They're in position, ready to move in. You can pull out now,” Sophie right then whispered into the comm and he felt all the nervous tension float away, leaving only his pride to continue a little bit longer.

“Yes, sir, I'm really sorry. For our trespassing and for my... companion. Could you at least point us in the direction of Sudbury? Please?”

“North!” Winham growled, then, at seeing their confused faces, he pointed in the direction they'd come from – which he didn't know. “That way.”

“Thank you sir, so kind. If... I don't want to press my luck here, but if you maybe could call the AAA and...”

“Luck pressed, and I don't have a phone. Sorry, no can do. Now get going, I'm not in a good mood right now!”

“No kiddin',” Hardison couldn't help but mutter. “Thank you kindly, sir.” They were already on their way out so it didn't seem worth the mark's time to comment on the insolence.

The two of them hurried back down the path, towards the van. They'd not even entered when they heard multiple cars pass by, of which one had already stopped at the junction to spill out four FBI-agents, weapons drawn, rushing, bent over, into the woods.


	10. Chapter 10

From the van, they watched as more and more dark-clad figures surrounded the cabin, one of them the familiar shape of “Agent Hagen”. Hardison smiled at the screen as he spotted her, not even frowning over Todd McSweeten who was following right behind.

Inside the cabin, Winham hadn't yet realized his predicament, couch moved and on his way to open the trapdoor. “Parker, now. You need to get in there right now!” Nate growled, glad she'd been able to put her ear-bud back in sometime during the car-ride. He could see her conferring with McSweeten who spoke into his walkie-talkie right away, rising up to walk over and knock on the door.

Nate stood as well, turning towards Sophie. “I'll be outside, tell me if I need to know anything.” He grabbed his FBI-windbreaker and his fake ID and jumped out, already moving through the foliage to take the shortcut to the cabin.

“Nate!” she called after him, but he didn't care. He had to go, had to see for himself that the boy was alright. He might even find legitimate reason to do it, a good explanation why he had to go out there and break with the plan – again – but he didn't bother. There were perks of being the leader, and doing stupid, irrational things was one of them.

**

It took some time, even in haste, to reach Winham's cabin again. Huffing, Nate decided he'd give the Eliot's suggestion to star jogging in the morning another thought, then stopped when he had to dodge a man who was rolling out a long set of cables from his broadcast-van to the place where his colleagues were already setting up a scene. He spotted Kitty Mallory, from Channel 15 News, practicing her outraged-concerned-touched expression in front of her camera-man.

The clutter helped him to get past the FBI-agents, who only glanced at his badge and jacket and waved him through, towards the house.

Even though he'd hurried, he arrived just the moment Winham – still known under the name of Malcolm Winston – was brought outside by Agents Taggert and McSweeten, cuffed and swearing bloody murder, telling the FBI that they'd get 'their asses kicked once the Marshall's office gets wind of this outrage'. Nate could only just jump aside before a barrage of reporters – TV, newspaper, online-news and every other source that Sophie had been able to dig up – stormed forward, bombarding the agents and Winham. With the flashes and yelled questions, the “look here”, and “Agent can you tell us...” shouting all around him, Nathan felt like he'd accidentally stumbled onto the red-carpet during Oscar-night.

He tried to wedge himself through the people but gave up after a minute, instead walking around the cabin to reach the back-door. Once again, he was let through and he wondered distantly about the state of America's police-forces that they just let strangers walk into their crime-scenes. It made his job easier, sure, and in this particular scenario, with a whole task-force out on a job, he couldn't blame them to just accept a guy in the right jacket with a badge as one of them. Still...

Inside, the cabin was filled with people, all wearing blue jackets or kevlar-vests with the three conspicuous letters on the back. In the back of the room, two men and two women where already dusting surfaces and shining blue lights over every piece of furniture that was in reach.

No sign of Parker, but he could hear her talking in his ear, so she wasn't in the basement.

“You ready for the show?” she asked and didn't get an answer, but just as Nate wanted to ask her what she meant, a door to his left opened and the boy stepped out, Parker in tow.

The kid looked up, startled by Nate's proximity, huge eyes in a sharp-angled face which still held enough baby-features to soften the half-starved look he was sporting. Gray eyes, not green as he'd thought, with a thick black ring around the iris. Not blue. Not Sam's at all.

Yet alike in a way that hurt Nathan deep in his heart.

He looked so scared, flinching when Nate shifted, melting himself to Parker's side. Good Lord, what had they done to this kid?

“Oh, hey Nate,” Parker spoke up, unconcerned, like it was an every-day occurrence to free a boy sold into modern-day slavery. Like it was common for them to sell him to that in the first place. “Meet Ryan.”

The boy, just seconds ago chewing agitatedly on his lip and avoiding eye-contact now looked up and right at Nathan, who suddenly felt like he'd stepped through the rabbit-hole and into the Mad Hatter's tea-party.

The kid, Ryan, had shed his fear like an overcoat, leaving instead a boy with a curious tilt to the head, an open, slightly cocky expression and a smirk that was so familiarly 'Spencer' that it felt like a kick in the guts. “Hey,” he said, holding out his hand, “so, you're the dude with the plan?”

**

 

Down in the basement, everything was quiet. Two crime-scene guys were doing their thing and they didn't seem to mind Nathan's presence in the room.

From the trapdoor, a ladder had led into a small corridor, on its end a steel-door with a dial-lock that had clearly not been broken open, so he suspected Parker had done her magic.

Inside, it didn't look anything like he'd imagined. Nate had tried to avoid thinking about how a room installed for a little boy to use … to... to keep down there would look like, he had, but he hadn't been able shut up his brain, no matter how hard he'd tried

Yoga might have helped.

His mind had drawn pictures of horrible things, dark colors, a gloomy, dank place – completely disregarding Eliot's description of 'just a normal room'. What would Eliot consider 'normal' anyway.

Turned out the both of them were pretty much on the same page with it.

The walls were painted in a light-yellow, soft, bright color and the ceiling in an even lighter shade which made the room seem higher than it was. A couch, blue-and white checkered covering, sat on a bright carpet with a cheery but not too intricate design. One side of the chamber was completely covered with bookshelves, filled to the brim with all kinds of books on all kinds of subjects and on the adjoining wall was a TV and PlayStation-system with another shelf, this one stacked with a heap of games and DVDs. Nate spotted a few Disney-movies.

Sam had loved Disney.

The room as such really did look nice and cozy, if you ignored the lack of windows and natural light. No creepy clowns or other stuff that might set off a childhood-fear, though he guessed that being left alone for at least five days a week would be enough to set off anything.

And if not that, then the other two days would.

In one corner was a refrigerator and a shelf with plastic-cups and plates, and on the last side there was a big, comfortable looking bed with a teddy-bear and racecar-spreads. An open door to the left showed a small bathroom, lights on and the appliances were already covered in fingerprint-dust.

It felt eery, with the policemen inside, creepy in a normal, everyday-evil way.

It wasn't true that Nate forgot about the bad that normal people did. Eliot had it wrong on that. He didn't forget, and it grated on him as well, but he'd found that his anger burned hotter for those who had everything and still wanted more, going over everyone and anything that lay in their paths.

Sure, a man who beat his kids and wife, a person who exploited women, children or animals and who had a low, or average income was just as bad as a rich, influential one. He knew that.

The problem wasn't in not knowing, or in ignoring. The problem was that he couldn't do anything about it. Well, apart from one tiny step whenever he got the chance. He couldn't help everyone, and Nathan wasn't the kind of man who took that kind of thing lightly. Maybe Eliot Spencer, who had done so much bad, who had seen so much evil, who had learned to live with what he'd done and what he'd seen, maybe he was able to compartmentalize, to know and acknowledge and still keep going, still keep setting one foot in front of the other.

Nathan Ford, though, couldn't. He'd go insane. He knew he wasn't quite sane to begin with, that something had shattered inside him when he'd been powerless to help his boy, had watched his final breaths in that cold, cold hospital-room. Had disintegrated even more when he'd seen his wife grief, accept and deal with the death of Sam, and he... hadn't been that strong. Couldn't deal, didn't want to accept. Told himself it was because Meggie hadn't known about IYS, about Blackpool's cruel decisions, but the truth was simpler: his wife was stronger than him.

Sophie would say that it was good to take things to heart, that he was a good man, and he might even believe her when the lights were out. But... He sometimes wondered how he'd turned out if Sam hadn't been taken from them, or if he'd died even with the help of IYS. Would Nate be at the same place now? Would he be the same man?

Maybe not if Sam had died despite the new treatment. Certainly not if Sam were still alive.

Right now, though, he was one man who held some fragile power over a bunch of thieves, criminals, and even though his team was amazing, had done so much to help, he'd either wreck them – and himself along with them – trying to right every single wrong in the world, or he'd chase them away, drink himself stupid and sick and lose the last thread that tethered him to the world of the living.

He realized, didn't need Sophie pointing it out to him, that he often acted like a general commanding his troops. Aloof and distant, harsh and sometimes cold-hearted, he might appear to them like a boss more than a friend.

That was plain to see, and yet they followed his leads, stepped up their game, worked over their own fears and limits if he asked them to. Went where they didn't want to go, just for him, just because... of his plans. To outsiders, it would look like there was an imbalance of power that worked in his favor, but Nate knew that it wasn't all there was.

He needed them. He liked them, a lot, that was a bonus, but he needed them to keep him in this world, to keep him from drifting off into insanity and every time they surprised him - and that was fairly often – he got hooked back into liking this world. Liking people, acknowledging the good that mankind possessed, even underneath a layer of darkness and dirt. He needed them more than they needed him. So the power-imbalance? Wasn't on his side.

Standing in this dungeon, taking in the quiet and loneliness that kept drifting from the walls, he admitted to himself that he wasn't equipped for dealing with people like Winham, not constantly, not forever. He felt his mind trying to back out already, trying to find a place of quiet, to stop working and maybe drown in a bottle and he hadn't even seen anything really bad.

Doing this forever, doing this kind of thing more than once would kill him, and he'd probably take a lot of people with him. He didn't want that. He didn't want to die just yet, Nate realized with startling clarity. Living wasn't yet done, and as long as there were things he could do, people he could trick and play and rob blind, as long as he felt the deep, warm fuzz of satisfaction after a successful con and a group of wronged people who got what they deserved, that long he'd not just roll over and stop breathing. The world might be corrupt and harsh, might be cruel and unkind, but there was enough good in it to trust it a little.

People like Agent Todd McSweeten were worth trusting the world.

Because while McSweeten maybe wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, was too naïve for his own good sometimes, too gullible, he was still a good man who did his job with passion. He cared deeply about fighting the good fight and believed in what he did. They didn't know much about him, treated him as a joke a lot of the time, used him like a tool to work towards their gains, and they would continue to do so. Nate had stopped feeling bad about that a while ago. That didn't mean he overlooked the cold fury when McSweeten had led Winham out the cabin, the detached disgust he was showing with every line of his stiff posture.

He knew, he cared and Nate hoped he wouldn't burn out too soon, lose that spark.

McSweeten'd surprised Nathan when he'd suddenly appeared in front of them, knelt down to look Ryan in the eyes which had switched back to scared and timid in not even a blink. Todd had raised his eyebrows, looked at the kid and had introduced himself, quietly, earnestly and with only a hint of a smile. He hadn't spoken like an adult to a boy, or like a cop to a victim, but like a man would talk to another man.

“My name's Todd McSweeten. Would you like to get out of here and back to your mom?”

“Don't have a mom,” Ryan had shot back, slipping in his role of victim into the cocky, confident, slightly hostile boy he was underneath. Or maybe that was another act, Nate wasn't sure who that kid really was. Ryan'd realized his mistake and squeezed out a tear right away, and McSweeten hadn't seemed to suspect anything wrong. Silently, Nate had praised the kid's talent for bullshitting, even though it had creeped him out to see a child so young as such a remarkable con-man.

McSweeten had just nodded gravely. “My bad. You still wanna get out of here?” He'd held out his hand and seemingly against his own will, Ryan had taken it, following the FBI-agent towards the door.

The two of them had sat on the wooden steps just outside the back, talking in low voices but apparently content to wait until the worst of the reporter-crowd was gone and they could slip to one of the cars unseen. Nathan had wanted to talk to the boy, get to know him, get to understand him better and well... honestly, find a sign that they hadn't irrevocably destroyed his innocence.

But McSweeten hadn't let Ryan out of his sight, offering him a chewing-gum like it was a cigarette, sitting silently and not asking him anything at all.

When they had finally walked off, Nate hadn't been able to keep his desire to actually see the basement at bay and he'd slid down the ladder and into this bizarre sub-sphere he was standing in now.

Jesus Christ, they were so in over their heads!


	11. Chapter 11

His team had waited for him at the van, still hidden even while the whole forest was crawling with police. The feds seemed to be focused on the other side of the road, though, and Nate had slipped away from them just as easily as he'd slipped inside. Hardison was leaning against his car, eyes closed, Parker right next to him in companionable silence. She was still in her FBI-outfit, hair held back in a sensible pony-tail with big shades covering her eyes. Her shoulder was touching Alec, and it could have been coincidence. Her whole body, though, was leaning towards her friend who had lowered himself so their shoulders were at the same height. Nathan doubted that there was much chance in the way they stood, giving and receiving comfort and trust. It looked more intimate than a big, smooching kiss would ever look.

A few feet away, Sophie was trying to get Eliot to talk, shining her big eyes on his, looking right into his soul, it seemed. She was touching his arm every now and then to either console for some odd reason, or try to coax answers from him. The way Eliot shifted away and glared showed that he suspected a trick, some mind-washing or whatever she called it. He was probably right.

Eliot didn't look good, still wearing the clothes from the con though his hair had been messed up, a few leafs sticking out. A tear in his jeans and the dirt and grass on his boots led Nate to believe he'd ditched the stolen car somewhere and walked through the forest – more probably ran. He was tense like a bowstring, eyes distant and far away, his arms crossed over his chest in defiance and defense, trying to keep up the barrier Sophie was softly aiming to dismantle.

A tremendously bad idea, Nate realized.

“All right... that didn't go too bad.”

Everyone turned towards him, one proud, one grateful, one neutral and one … disbelieving. And angry.

“That went... are you out of your mind?” Sophie strode over, visibly calming herself before she reached him. This job had her out of her comfort-zone and it showed in every one her mood-swings and the loss of her composure, her calm. “You walked right into a whole bunch of FBI-agents, and that you weren't spotted or recognized as … some character you've played in the last years is a miracle, nothing less. You endangered not just yourself but us, the boy and the whole stupid plan, and you're saying it went well?”

She had a point, but right now, Nate didn't care. He'd interrupted her ploy, which had been his aim and now he just wanted to go home. “So? I wasn't recognized and nothing happened.” He shrugged. “Parker, where's McSweeten taking Ryan?”

“Back home,” Eliot growled, “or I'll go an' kick his ass.” He'd relaxed his stance a little, his face smoothing into his trademark calm that was so often mistaken for lack of intelligence. Nathan had fallen for that once, a long, long time ago, and never since. “They'll take his statement once Miriam gives her okay.”

“Who's Miriam?” Hardison asked, and Nate really wanted to know, too. Right now wasn't the best time, though.

“Guys, if we don't get out of here now, we might still get found and found out. So I vote for leaving and talking on the way.” Parker held up her hand. “What, Parker?”

“Oh... I thought we were taking votes now. I wanted to show my support,” she shrugged. “Can I drive?”

They unanimously declined her petition.

**

Eliot had straight-out refused to go with them, giving some bullshit reason to get the stolen car back to civilization. Since there wasn't much Nate could do to stop him except tie him up in duct tape, he had Hardison drop him off close to the car on their way back. He'd hoped to get more of the story, more about Ryan, but either Eliot needed some space, vent some of the tightly-coiled violence that was boiling behind his eyes or he wanted to check up on the kid.

Maybe all of it.

So he simply gave in, sending the rest of the team on their ways to cope with what they'd done, celebrate or shower or hide in a closet, he didn't really give a damn, didn't want to deal with them right now. He needed a drink, so fucking badly it was like a constant ache in his chest.

They would have to get some of the money towards their clients, but Nate didn't feel like doing it now. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the world and everyone in it and went at his whiskey like a starving man at a chicken-sandwich.

Three glasses in, he felt his limbs starting to relax and his brain abandoning the constant churning and chugging, the pushing of ideas, thoughts, plans; stopped putting them in front of his eyes, clearly visible against the blank screens on his walls.

Maybe it would be better to do his maudlin upstairs, he distantly wondered, a blank wall or ceiling, no couch, no screens, no exciting electric gadgets and no reminder of the people who crowded his life nowadays. A place where he wouldn't be constantly reminded of who they were, what they did.

What they'd done.

They had sold a child to a pedophile.

It didn't get any better with his mind half-drowned, it was still the truth. No matter how he twisted and turned it, explained it and reasoned with himself, they had still sold a man a kid. Eliot had sold that man a kid, though they'd all helped, they all had been accomplices in the deed.

Eliot, being the man he was, would probably be able to live with that, he was already living with so much shit that this little thing wouldn't matter. Or would it?

Nate realized that he really wanted to know. From the perspective of the leader in their little bunch of misfits, sure, since he needed to know if one of his people had gone over his limits, had gone too insane, had come from asset to liability. But he also wanted to understand this man, from a friend's perspective and from a purely selfish reason: was there a chance that he himself would one day get over this? One day look in the mirror and not see Winham look back, smiling his smarmy smile gratefully and extending a hand towards that little, scared boy from the video-feed.

The video...

Frowning, Nathan stood and swayed over to the equipment-bag Hardison had dumped by the door for when they would need it later. He found the laptop and even found the videos they had taken from inside the cabin, filled himself another glass – he should really start using bigger glasses, it was a pain having to refill every minute – and started the film.

He was still watching when Eliot arrived.

**

The videos didn't show much more than he'd already seen. But they made things possible, like stopping the scenes, going on in slow-motion or speeding things up.

And he couldn't stop watching Eliot's interactions with Ryan, couldn't help but cling to them as the truth, the goddamn truth about what had really gone on. He'd muted the pictures, not wanting any distraction from what he was seeing. On the screen, Winham had just asked Ryan his name, and Eliot'd moved; a tiny, nearly invisible shift of his hips. He was poised to attack, a hint closer to Winham than he'd been before but even though it was such an innocent, easily excused movement, Ryan had reacted, taken up the cue like ...well, like Sophie did so often with Nate, not thinking. Reflex.

He'd shifted a bit further away from Winham, not even a step but leaning away, even away from Eliot to give him room to move, to not be in the way. He'd also let his shoulder drop and was now standing minutely behind Eliot, not between the two adults anymore. And it had given him confidence, had allowed him to work with his eyes and whisper his fake-name.

After that – Nathan knew because he'd already watched it countless times – Eliot had been prepared to strike any second, always putting himself ever-so slightly between Winham and the kid. When the trapdoor had been opened and Winham had gone down, the two had been alone for a brief second, and this was the favorite and most hated part of the video for Nate.

The two had faced each other and silently, without a word, it was agreed to go on with the plan.

Ryan had been afraid, that much was clear from his shifting glances, but he'd held the unspoken question in the eyes of the man who was so clearly protecting him, had nodded and then bobbed him against the stomach, as if it was him reassuring the adult that everything would be alright. Then, he'd opened his arms to let himself be carried down the ladder, not like a child clinging to a father but like Parker strapping herself in her harness. Necessity, protection, trust.

It made Nathan feel better and worse for getting the boy into this. Better, because it was clear that Eliot hadn't just snatched some random kid from the streets, a thing he of course never thought Eliot would do. Except... maybe he would?

And worse because while Ryan had talent even bigger than Sophie's when it came to pretending, conning, grifting, it still held the question as to where he'd gotten that skill. What boy would know so much about manipulating people?

**

“Nate?”

“Heya Eliot,” he waved, then let his hand drop in his lap. He was too fucking tired to hold it up. “Where's the others?” Was it something to be proud of that he wasn't slurring, even after half a bottle of the finest Irish Whiskey? Or should he feel ashamed?

“At the pub.”

“So, they're not ready to face the facts? Not ready to know the truth?”

“I think they're not ready to deal with your drunken ass,” Eliot growled, still leaning against the wall next to the door, relaxed and poised at the same time. Damned cats.

“Really? And they're fine with the rest of this,” he sneered, inexplicably angry. “Fine with selling a child?”

He didn't look to the door, but clearly heard the sigh. “We didn't sell a child, Nate,” Eliot murmured, then walked over to the couch, sat down across from Nathan. “What're ya looking at?”

“Nothing,” Nate hissed, childishly closing the laptop so no-one would see this, would realize that he wasn't angry so much as fucking jealous. Jealous that Eliot had this kid, had someone who looked up to him like Sam had done; like Sam would, one day, have forgotten and move on to live the life of a teenager, then a man. But Sam wouldn't ever grow up, would never again look bright-eyed at Nathan in wonder, would never again show so much trust in him or anyone that he'd walk into the basement of a bad, bad man, sure that nothing would happen to him, that he was safe. It hurt to know that, hurt so bad he couldn't breath right, couldn't think straight. “He yours?” he asked, aiming for indifferent but apparently coming across as plain mean.

Good thing Eliot was the one person in their team who could deal with mean just fine. He raised his eyebrows. “Who, Ryan? No, I'm pretty sure he's not mine.” He thought a moment, shrugged. “Could be, I guess. Don't think so, though.”

“Huh.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just... huh.” Now Nathan shrugged. “He has the same look in his eyes you have,” he added, not sure why. Eliot just frowned, clearly not happy with that observation. And though Nathan had meant it as a compliment, in retrospect it wasn't very flattering for the kid to have the eyes of … well, whatever Eliot was. It was still true, though, and that sobered him up some. “Jesus, Eliot, where's that kid come from?”

Sighing, Eliot moved his hands through his hair, clean from all the goop he'd put in it to be Evan Howard. He smiled, a little smile to himself. “Met him in the gym,” he said, and when Nate frowned he added “I teach self-defense for kids at the youth-center, once a week.” Huh. Nathan hadn't known that. Eliot smirked. “Little punk nearly took out my kneecap, he was so fucking angry. Must've been... hm, dammit, not quite two years back already.”

“Angry?”

“Yeah. He was nine, small, scrappy. Wiry, slippery little bugger, constantly fighting with the others. I've had to grab him and drag him off kids twice his size, and man, he was hard to hold on a good day, but once you had him pinned, he flipped, just lost control and got mean. Shit, he once broke Liam's arm.” He looked up. “Liam was fifteen. Was just joking around.”

There was pride in his eyes and voice, a softness as he recalled the events of the past.

Still, Nathan had to ask. “Not a good sign, right?”

“No kidding, absolutely not. Took a long time to sort him in any kind of shape, and Miriam said he'd been even worse when she'd first seen him. Miriam's his social-worker, or whatchacallit,” he added for Nate. “She's good people. He's fine now, I guess, or at least on his way there. Got better control. But he's still a lying piece of shit most of the time.” Even the insult sounded like praise. “I still fall for his puppy-eyes even though I know it's fake. Hell, the kid could con Sophie into giving up her shoe-collection, he's just that good. Scares the shit outta me to imagine how he got like that.” The last part was whispered, more to himself than for Nathan's benefit. He'd still heard it.

And heartily agreed.

“So...he's an orphan?”

“No. His parents,” he spit the word out like it tasted bitter “are in prison, and they better not ever step out of it. Kid's just getting his feet back under him.” Eliot looked at Nate, clearly angry and not hiding what he'd do if Ryan's family ever turned up in their city. “If you wanna know the whole story, dig up Wynona Harris and Peter Connor. You might not want to know, though,” he cautioned.

Nathan knew he'd check anyway. Might do it without Hardison's help, though. He wiped his hand over his chin, feeling exhaustion waft over him like a shroud, pulling him down, down, down. He'd need more alcohol, though, to keep the dreams away.

“If I'm thinking right, how the Hell did you get him to go with you?”

“Told him everything. The whole plan. Every detail.” Eliot took a sharp breath, exhaled slowly. “When we knew what Winham had on his plate, I thought of Ryan right away. Nate, he's so fucked up, but he's tough. He's a good kid, if you look underneath all that bullshit. I told him what's what. Wouldn't let anyone walk into that blind. He just thought about it one minute, asked about what we'd do to Winham, and he agreed. He fucking agreed, and from that moment on, I couldn't have stopped him. Bugger's gonna be a police-man, he said.” He smiled fondly. “Bet he'll make a great cop.”

“Yeah...” Nathan could still see Ryan and McSweeten. They'd be an interesting match. “Still. Eliot... did we really have to? Was it worth it?”

The silence stretched, and the clock from the kitchen kept ticking away. The answer, when it finally came, was short.

“Yes.”

“Just like that? Just that simple? A 'yes' and that's all?”

“Yes, that's all. I'll let you think about it. See ya t'morrow.” Eliot stood and stretched, walked out the door and was gone, like a ghost, leaving no trace. Maybe he hadn't even been here, Nate thought. Had he been? Was he sleeping already?

“Sam,” he whispered into the silence. “Sam....”


	12. Chapter 12

He woke some unmeasurable time later, when someone poked and prodded him into an upright position. “You silly man, if I didn't … well, if I didn't, I'd ask myself why I bother carrying your drunken, unbelievably heavy, smelly body up the stairs. I swear, if you don't start helping me now and use those sloppy legs you got, I'll just dump you on the floor.”

Sophie's accent had sharpened from her rant and it woke him enough to at least use his feet every second step and grab the railing of the stairs. He didn't really feel much in any of his limbs, vaguely recognized the soft surface as his bed and felt someone tug on him, on his feet so he might have assumed that his shoes were taken off.

He might have, but he wouldn't ever be able to tell for certain. He fell asleep somewhere between the right shoe and the left sock.

**

Morning came with a terrible, terrible pounding in his head and a huge ball of sheep's-wool stuffed into his mouth, complete with smell and taste and the distant feel of grease. Nate suppressed the urge to puke and let himself tumble from the bed to his legs, the best way to get upright in the morning, he'd found. Everything hurt but at least he hadn't dreamed, or if he did, he couldn't remember. So yeah, that was worth a little discomfort.

After a thorough brushing of his teeth and an even more thorough shower, he felt halfway decent and able to face the day and his team-members, who he could hear downstairs already. Even the smell of coffee that was drifting up the stairs was welcome now, when an hour ago it would have made him run for a bucket.

Sure enough, everyone was already assembled in his living-room come office. It felt... nice and at the same time harassing to be the center of attention, after, during and before 'work'. They all could go home – wherever that was – and do things in private – whatever that was – except him. He couldn't escape them, and ever since Hardison had handed out keys to the apartment to everybody in the team, they usually didn't bother to knock first.

There was probably a law against landlords just coming into a rented apartment, but Nate had never bothered to read the contract completely. If he really wanted to stop them come in unannounced, he should probably start sleeping with Sophie on his living-room-floor. Maybe she'd agree... Then again, it didn't really bother him that they were constantly sitting on his furniture or using his kitchen. It was nice to know that he wasn't alone, good to know that there was someone who cared enough to kick his ass into sobering up and at least stop the drinking during the day. Or half the day.

The time before Dubenich had not been as kind to him.

“Good morning,” he coughed, smiling gratefully at the coffee-cup that had magically appeared in front of him, attached to Parker's slim hand. “Ugh... is there something to eat?”

“There's toast.” Sophie frowned into the fridge. “And I think Gummi-Frogs? What's this? Oh, here's some of Eliot's stew from a few days ago, I guess it's still edible?”

“Uh, thanks. I think I'll stick with toast for now.” He slouched over to his kitchen and started puttering with his toaster, a smile on his face when he felt Sophie's gentle stroke on his back. She left him alone, though, and slipped onto the couch, between Hardison and Eliot who were bickering over the best way to grill a steak, of all things. For a while he was content with just watching them, not really listening but instead letting the voices drift and wave all over him like a radio that was playing even when no-one was listening. It was a little disconcerting to see everyone else just go on with life as if nothing earth-shattering had happened. How was it that they didn't get thrown as much as he did? Was he really so much different from them?

“So...” he interrupted the easy chatter after a while, “now what?”

**

At once, the atmosphere changed and everyone sat up straighter. Now, he could see that they hadn't just moved on, they'd just shoved things out of their minds, out of the way to deal with later.

“Yeah...Okay, we have enough money from the.. uh, transaction to give the Morton's. There shouldn't be a problem with that. We have enough to compensate a few of his other victims, though not all of them to the full amount they lost.”

“Should not be a problem. The police will freeze Winham's assets and go over his dealings with a fine comb. They should find the discrepancies -”

“Oh yeah, good idea, I'll help them a little bit,” Hardison grinned eagerly, “Shouldn't take long.”

“-discrepancies, and start some kind of compensation.” Nathan continued. He really hated to be interrupted, and he hated it even more when he was nursing a hangover. “All right. What about Ryan,” he looked over at Eliot, who leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“I spoke with Miriam. Since his parents are … unavailable,” he growled, “she's responsible for him. Not exactly like a foster-mom, more a legal guardian? I don't know how the exact term works.” From the direction of his glances, it was clear he was saying the last things for Parker's benefit. “Anyway, she's responsible for him, he likes and trusts her and she … I guess she loves him.”

“How is she dealing with this situation?” Sophie asked, and Nathan got the distant impression that they all had been given a rough outline about who Ryan was and where Eliot had dug him up. “And him? How's Ryan taking things?”

“You can ask him yourself, but he's fine. I'd only worry about his sudden fan-boy act over Agent McTodd, but other than that, he's doing good.”

“You sure?” Nathan couldn't help to ask, though he knew he could just check for himself if he doubted Eliot's words. “I mean... uhm...”

“Yeah, I'm sure. I arranged for you to be with them this afternoon, when the Feds'll be there You can see for yourself then.” It didn't sound annoyed or insulted, and Eliot didn't look like the doubt in Nathan's question had hit him as a surprise. He'd clearly expected something like that if he'd assured Nate's presence at the questioning.

“Thanks,” he just said, because what else do you say about that?

“And he's gonna be all right? I mean... you told us he's good and he'll say the right things but... he's just eleven years old.”

“When I was eleven, I stole my first gold-statue,” Parker threw in, completely without a hint of remorse or sense of that being somehow remarkable or disturbing. Which was disturbing in and off its own. “Why wouldn't he be able to lie to a bunch of cops?”

They didn't have an answer to that, not one she'd understand at least.

Coughing, Nate steered the conversation back towards the subject. “Well... now. The mark's dealt with?”

“Yeah, Parker gave the feds the hard-drive and while we had it, I've installed a program that will decrypt the files on them automatically after a police-computer's hooked up with it. I hope they have an idea what they're dealing with, it's not the most pleasant surprise, man.” Hardison scratched his ear. “Also, I've hidden links on them that anyone can find without even looking, to all the sites he visited and there's a file with his passwords. That asshole is toast, there's no such thing as not enough evidence from this side.”

“Good. What about his statements. Will the cops find any evidence of Even Howard? Can you do something 'bout that, Hardison? I don't want them to come looking for him and find Eliot?”

“They won't,” Eliot jumped in before Hardison could answer. “He's legit.”

“What?”

“Oh? Who is he?” Sophie and Parker spoke at the same time.

“I used the alias before. He's in the system, as Evan James Howard. I didn't leave any prints, not in his car, not on anything. So no problem with that.”

Nathan didn't doubt his assertions for a second. If Eliot said he didn't leave prints, it meant he really didn't. He was curious, though, how Evan Howard got into the system on the first hand, and as what. He'd maybe have Hardison dig after him. Later, though.

“Okay. Sophie, you're in the clear?”

“Of course.” She raised her eyebrow. “I know my job.”

“What's up, Parker? Why're you lookin' like someone ate your kitten, girl?” Hardison leaned over to her, concern and affection in his gaze.

She was sitting on the couch, pouting. “I feel weird. I didn't even get to steal anything. I just bugged and de-bugged a room and stole a stupid hard-drive.”

“You got to open a lock, though,” Eliot offered, but she just glared at him.

“That's not enough! There wasn't even anything valuable inside.”

“There was a boy inside. I say that's plenty valuable.”

She looked taken aback, then nodded. “Oh... right.”

**

It was evening, the sun not yet set but hiding behind the higher buildings of Boston, throwing chilly shadows over the lower houses.

Nathan was leaning against one of the air-ducts on his roof, staring into his whiskey-glass and waiting until the last sunlight stopped lighting up his drink and would transform the soft glow into a deep, unimpressive amber color.

He didn't like drinking stuff that glowed like it held the salvation to all ailments, he'd rather drink it knowing full well that it was damnation he'd swallow.

The day had been busy and full of surprises. After their team-meeting, he'd met up with Miriam Haverman and Ryan, posing as a child-psychologist who would witness the statement and the mental health of the boy.

Miriam was in her mid-thirties, an attractive brunette with a smattering of freckles on her face. She'd been wary when he'd arrived earlier than McSweeten but had thawed once he'd introduced himself with his real name.

“Oh, you're Eliot's boss? Come on in. Would you like a soda?” He'd accepted and sat on the couch, waiting until she'd settled down herself. “To be honest, I'm not sure how I think about this whole … thing. I'm still a little pissed at Eliot for it, and if it had been up to me, you'd have had to think of something else.”

“Like involving the police?”

“Oh please,” she'd scoffed. “I'm not saying they are useless, they aren't. But if I hadn't engaged a PI to get Ryan away from his folks, he'd still be ...there, with them. No, I don't mean the police, they are too bound inside the legality of their actions. But something. Something... else.”

For a few moments, she'd sat still and silent, then gathered herself and sighed. “Ah, well. He didn't, and once he'd talked to Ryan, there was no stopping it. He's still hyper and over the moon that he got to work with Eliot, I have a hard time getting him to talk about something else.” Miriam had smiled to herself, love and pride shining in her eyes while thinking about her boy. “I think... it might even be good for him to fight against people like that asshole.”

“Eliot said he wants to be a cop, what do you think about that?”

She'd chuckled. “Well... He's wavering between street-cop, detective and now FBI-agent. Let's see what it turns out to be, but so far, I think he could do worse.”

With that, the door to the next room had burst open and Ryan had appeared, bright-eyed and grinning. “Mir, I'm done, can I go play computer now?” He'd sounded just like any kid his age, and once again Nate had been sharply reminded just what he'd be missing in his life.

Ryan had gathered himself quickly, too quickly maybe, when he'd spotted the visitor, and just as quickly he'd relaxed when he found who it was. “Oh, hi Mr Ford.”

“Ryan, the FBI will be here in a few minutes. You can play later, for an hour.”

“Aw man, why only'n hour?”

“Because it's always one hour, kiddo. Every day until you're twelve, then it's an hour and a half.”

“Fuck, that's so unfair! All the other kids get to play longer, as long as they wanna! I'm the only one who's restricted like that...”

“And ask yourself how many of 'all the others' sit alone in their house all day because Mommy and Daddy aren't there. Also, don't swear.”

He'd pouted, then turned around to get back into his room but just then, the doorbell had rung and he'd rolled his eyes and slipped onto the couch, curling up and looking lost and scared in between the cushions.

Holy shit, even knowing he'd not really been scared hadn't prevented Nate's initial reaction to that look, the urge to comfort and make it all better. There was something wrong with the kid, something that led to admirable talent but stemmed from so much blackness that it would be hard work to ever get rid of the taint.

He had someone like that on his team, so Nate gathered he knew what he was talking about.

**

The interview had gone without a hitch. The female agent who'd been chosen to question the boy had been kind and soft, asking the right questions and getting the right reactions. Ryan had lied through his teeth, about how he'd been taken from a playground and made to pose for pictures, how he'd been so scared and had just gone with that man... He'd artfully dropped the name 'Mr Howard', had told, hesitantly, the story of how he got to the cabin and what had happened and all this time, he'd sometimes let his breath hitch, gripped Miriam's hand, hid into her shoulder and once even apologized to her for posing for those photographs.

When the agent had left, there had been tears in her eyes and cold fury on her face. This was one person who'd not let go of this case.

Ryan was amazing.

Scary, but amazing.

**

“You're not thinking about jumping off the roof, are you?”

Eliot had crept up on him, and it took Nathan a lot of willpower to stop his startled reaction. He let out his breath in a sigh, getting the tension out along with the air and hoped it sounded annoyed or nonchalant instead of surprised. He didn't really give a damn about what he appeared like, not today, but there was that small voice inside that kept telling Nathan to be mysterious and unflappable, to be a steady rock for his team.

The two men leaned against the vent together, watching the clouds turn lighter than the sky. It was companionable, and Nate was surprised when Eliot interrupted their musing.

“So, you still doubt it was worth it?”

It took a while to sort through the images in his head, to see Ryan and his relatively quiet, ordered life thrown about by their play and weigh that loss of anonymity – because there was no way any law-enforcement would soon forget about him and the case – against the gain of getting Winham into prison. Surprisingly, he still couldn't easily pick, but had to settle for the doubtful realization that in some cases, the outcome did justify the means.

And once he did, he realized that he'd already lived with that motto for quite some time.

“I'm not happy about it, but yes, it was worth it.”

“Why're you not happy? You realize you're basically the only one who's not, right?”

Another valid point, except he was pretty sure Sophie was just as unhappy as him, and another interesting question. “I think it's because it shouldn't have been up to Ryan to get that man behind bars, and ultimately, it wouldn't have worked without him.”

“There are always ways to get people to stop what they do. It might have taken longer or it might not have been as satisfying,” Eliot smirked darkly, and Nate didn't have to guess what kind of solution he was referring to with the unsatisfying one “but it would have worked without him. Ryan was the best way, though. Quick, easy and sure. And after the kind of life he'd lived before Miriam, it was good to do something like that. Good for his confidence.”

Nate recalled the details of Ryan's life from the files he'd read before he went up on the roof. He couldn't honestly say that Eliot was wrong. It was amazing in itself that the kid was able to smile and be as quirky as he was, considering what he'd been put through from the age of five.

The silence spread once more between them, and Nate tried to find some hidden secret in the depth of his glass, maybe etched into the bottom. When had he emptied it, anyway?

“So you don't regret using him as your bait?”

Eliot shook his head, slowly. “No, I don't.”

“Not at all? You don't feel … dirty for all that we did, for all Ryan did?”

“I stopped feeling dirty a long time ago, Nate.”

Huh. “So it's not because the kid was a stranger's boy?”

Eliot looked over, raised an eyebrow in question.

“I mean... if you don't feel any kind of shame about it, it wouldn't matter where the kid was coming from, right? So... if he'd been yours, would you've let him do it too?”

“Would you've done if it were Sam?” Eliot shot back.

“Hell, no!”

More silence. Eliot didn't look up. “What kind of man would I be to ask another person's kid to do what I'd never put my own up to?”

“A father,” Nate replied, and that earned him a scoff.

“Guess that answers my question then.”

They kept leaning side by side against the air-vent, looking over the roofs of the neighborhood. After a while, the niggling question once more started to itch, demanding release, and Nate gave in. “The pictures.”

It didn't turn out quite like a question, but from the way Eliot stilled, it got the meaning over clearly.

“What about them?”

Yeah, what about them. He'd found them, or well, Hardison had found them in the FBI-files. They'd destroyed them once it became clear that the evidence against Winham was solid and he'd be put behind bars like he deserved, taking half the Marshal's office with him for enabling his sick habits even though they'd known, or at least should have.

So Hardison had destroyed the files as Parker had burned the paper-photos, but not before Nate had gotten copies on his own laptop. From where he'd deleted them after seeing what was on them, what had Winham so captivated that he'd risked everything. He'd had to wipe them off his harddrive, but he'd never be able to wipe them off his mind.

They'd showed Ryan, yes.

But not in any kind of compromising position, not naked or... well, worse, like Nathan had feared. It were pictures of a boy with a shy smile, stretching out languidly on a couch with a red velvet-cover. He was wearing an undershirt that showed a lot of skin but covered more, a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. On some pictures, he was on his stomach, smiling at the camera invitingly, suggestively, in some he looked like he'd been surprised by someone, eyes big and lips slightly parted.

One, the one that made bile rise up into Nathan's throat, had him bending over a table, reaching for a glass of water that was a bit further away, head turned and looking back over his shoulder. His back was stretched out, the jeans had slipped down his backside, leaving a hint of the crack visible, just a hint.

They weren't bad, by any means. And that was what creeped him out most. All of the pictures could have been made by accident, could have been innocent moments to be kept and cherished, but the bulk of them, the hints of knowledge in the kid's eyes made them much, much more. And he really had to congratulate Ryan on these, because he'd managed to look like a posing, male Lolita while his eyes held a distant horror and fear.

“Where'd they come from?”

“I took them,” Eliot answered right away, not defending himself, not trying to excuse. “Told Ryan what I needed and he just switched on his act.”

Nathan frowned, but not from disbelief. “How did you know how to hook Winham for sure, how did you know that he wasn't interested in nakedness and filth?”

A weary sigh, but Eliot didn't dodge the answer. “I told you about Evan Howard. He knows this kind of things. Had to know for a job, once.”

“You mean you've done this before? You sold a kid before?” For some reason, that wasn't outside the range of possibilities with Eliot Spencer, with what he might have done in his life, but it still felt so … wrong.

“No, no. I didn't. But... I retrieved one, a long time ago.” Nate patiently waited for more, wished for a little insight into the things he didn't know about Spencer yet. “A boy, too. The son of a wealthy, Chinese mobster. He'd been napped when he was nine and when I got him back, he was twelve. Killed himself when he was fifteen...” A little bit of sorrow crept into Eliot's voice. “Anyway, Howard needed a solid background, and uh... I got more insight into that world than I ever wanted. Served me well this time, though.”

Nate let the quiet of the night swallow the words and their meaning, tried to picture Eliot Spencer as Evan Howard – another Evan, one that didn't have a team to back him up, one that didn't have people to keep him grounded in the real world. One that spent hours and hours in front of a screen or with disgusting, vile people to learn about the ways of deprivation, to get into a world so dark and sinister that the people they'd conned, that even Damien Moreau, were lambs in comparison.

It was good that Eliot had them, he suddenly realized. Not just, as he'd often thought, that the team was better off with him along, but it was good for Eliot to have them as his … anchor, if you would. And it wasn't just because he needed them as a moral guideline – for a man of Eliot's profession, he had pretty firm moral values. Twisted in some places, but solid underneath. Only, sometimes, it was probably good to have people depend on you, to have someone for whom it was worth questioning your motives and realize that maybe, just maybe, some of your own rules would need to be updated.

Nate found that it worked like that for him, and he was sure Eliot wasn't just staying with them because he didn't have anything better to do. Spencer liked his independence, but he also seemed to like the security he had with the team, and the knowledge that if all failed, they would come.

They also didn't demand anything he wasn't prepared to give. When it'd come out that he'd worked for Moreau, they had granted him his secrets and Nate was sure that it had left more of an impression on Eliot than whatever amazing talent they'd shown already.

He didn't need to explain with them, didn't need to excuse or hide himself. He wore his darkness on the open, plain to see when people were prepared to look for it, look beneath the violence and the lazy drawls and angry growls, look behind the smirks and smiles and flirty eyes. Eliot didn't apologize for who he was and what he'd done, maybe because there was no excuse for it, or maybe because he didn't think it would make a difference.

While Nate still tried to come to terms with who he had become and what he'd done in the last five years, still tried to find forgiveness and absolution in drinking, Eliot just seemed to embrace what he'd done – whatever that was. Embrace it and accept, put it in a boy that only needed to be opened sometimes and top it with laughter and life.

Maybe Nathan Ford was just too different from Eliot Spencer to do the same, to accept what he was. Or maybe Eliot had just done so much worse than Nate ever could that there had been no alternative apart from curling up and die, had learned to compartmentalize. Nathan didn't know, couldn't quite figure out. Maybe one day in the future, Nate would stand in front of the same choice: shoulder whatever crap life had dealt him and move on, or sink to the ground and despair.

He'd nearly sunken all the way when Dubenich had dug him up. Funny, he might have to feel grateful towards that disgusting little prick when you looked at it the right way.

Or the wrong way, depending.

“So. Gonna come down? Or should I get ya a blanket up here?”

“No,” Nate smiled into the empty glass. “I'll come down. Give me a minute, 'kay?”

Eliot pushed himself off the vent with his shoulders and stood, cracking his neck. “Sure. See ya in the morning.” He disappeared into the shadows and since even the door down into the building was dark, the light-bulbs once again burned through, it seemed like the pitch-black darkness reached out and swallowed his friend.

Nate shuddered. He didn't know what kind of faith Eliot had, if he'd had any to begin with or if he'd had it and lost it... he didn't even know his own faith anymore, apart from what he remembered from all those years ago. Watching Spencer, thinking about his past and his present he suddenly hoped that the concept of Heaven and Hell that he'd been brought up with was false, or at least inaccurate. If there was eternal reward for the good people and eternal damnation for the bad, where did it leave men like Eliot who did really bad things, maybe even for money but... not anymore?

And where did it leave him?

Maybe, he thought with a last glance up towards the slowly rising moon, maybe it didn't matter so much what happened when you died. Maybe remembering, accepting and moving on was the key to survival. Maybe taking things in stride and do it with a smile – or a smirk – was the only way to get by, the only way that should matter.

Maybe one day, Nate would be able to do it without numbing his conscience anymore.

And maybe pigs could learn to fly. Who would know, these days...

~end~


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for triggery stuff!

It's 2013, January. Malcolm Miles Winham the Fifth shifts in his prison jumpsuit, even after half a year inside not comfortable with the scratchy material. They probably used too much starch again, in the laundry, but there's not much you can teach wealthy, spoiled people about washing clothes, he assumes.

In the background, Rachmaninow's “Spring” is silently playing over the sound-system, creating a pleasant background though Winham'd rather listen to Beethoven.

Over all, he shouldn't complain. His cell is cosy and private, the company pleasant though admittedly not exactly what you might call “high society”. Those are held in the eastern part of the prison, and he can't fathom how they get to live. Apart from the bars in front of his windows and the limited time in the yard, Winham couldn't wish for a better place to be stuck in.

The trial took six months, months in which he felt so close to despair that he'd nearly ended his life - if he'd had the means. Everything he did have – shoelaces, cutting his wrists with a plastic-knife – was way too messy and sounded way too painful in his head. He'd not been that desperate, and now he's glad.

Sure, his wife left him, took everything he owned and even took the cat, but it's not really that he could blame her. He'd not have wanted to live with her if she'd been unfaithful, and he had been. He'd planned to take a lover, planned to get the step from just imagine himself with smooth, unwrinkled, fresh-smelling skin while sleeping with her to actually having that lithe, small, delicate body in his bed.

So he wouldn't blame her, he actually hopes she'll be happy. He'd liked her, in a distant kind of way, might have loved her even. But she'd not been what he'd desired, so anything beyond affection and the expected nuptial duty once a week had been too much to ask.

He'd hoped to see the little boy, Ryan, not Eliot, as it turned out, during the trial, see his big, amazingly talkative eyes and the slender figure once more to give him something to hang on to. Winham knew, in some corner of his mind, that it wasn't supposed to be like this, that he should feel shame, regret and horror for what he'd nearly done – for what he'd been caught doing. He didn't, though, he still doesn't. The only regret he has is that they took away his security as a witness, and even that isn't too awful here, behind these walls.

He's safe and he's comfortable, time to read and to dream and there's not even a cellmate, as he'd first feared, who would bother him or witness his jerk-off-sessions at night. The walls are thick enough to block out his moans when he grabs his dick tight and imagines the clean, soft skin of small ass-cheeks surrounding it; thick enough to block his shouted “Ryan” when he comes.

With pleasant memories of last night, he starts towards the dining-room, whistling along with the piano from the speakers. He turns a corner, steps muffled by the sturdy but clean carpeting and is jerked out of his dreams when he bumps into something that isn't there, usually.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you,” he smiles when he realizes it was a wide chest, belonging to a thick-set man whom he'd not yet seen around. He must've come with the last bus, a new convict, and he could be curious about his reasons for being here but he's a bit hungry, hoping he'll get some eggs Benedict which are usually eaten by the time he arrives for breakfast at nine.

“That is fine, Mr. Winham,” the man rumbles and takes a step back. “I didn't expect you to see me.”

“Oh, you know my name?” He's a bit pleased, even though it's not really an accomplishment to be imprisoned, the trial had been held without the public and he'd felt a little duped from the lack of recognition he got inside.

“I do,” the stranger says, smiling pleasantly and taking one more step back, yet still right in front of Winham. “I heard a lot about you. Fascinating.”

Winham smiles, it never hurts to be polite. “Thank you, I guess. Uh... do you want something else? I was just on my way to breakfast, so if you haven't eaten, you can come along.”

“Ah, I don't want to bother you. There is just one minor thing, It'll really not take long. Would you mind,” he shifts, looks around but there is nobody close by. “Would you mind coming with me?”

“Well...” A glance at his watch tells Miles that it doesn't matter anyway, the eggs would be gone by now. He nods, surprised when he realizes that he'd not been closer to the dining area but instead seemed to have moved backwards. It doesn't strike him as suspicious, though, the stranger is kind and friendly, with a slow smile on his lips and no dark intent visible in his eyes.

They don't go far, just a few feet to the right, there is a door that leads to the recreation room and the stranger leads him in there, even holding the door. Kind of him, Winham thinks and steps inside.

**

“So, what can I do for you?” He turns around when he hears the door close, spots the stranger turning the key. Now, he does get a little nervous and backs away, because alone in a room with an unknown, big and burly man isn't his favorite place to be. Even when said man is still smiling disarmingly.

“Oh, you could do a lot for me, Milesy. A whole lotta lot.”

“Uh...” Slowly, he backs away, scrambling when his companion picks up a metal baseball-bat that he'd not seen but which has obviously been placed there in advance. Still, the smile stays on.

“You know,” the man says, advancing steadily while Winham backs away faster and faster, losing his footing every now and then. “You know, I understand desire. I do. It's a strong force, and I know people can't help what they feel. See, I desire women. Busty women, with narrow hips. I love having my dick stroked by a woman's tits. I can't help but salivate when I see one who's just right.”

“Uh... that's fa-fascinating, I'm sure. I... I'm not … really equipped with breasts, I'm sorry to say,” he stammers, but the stranger just laughs.

“You think I wanna fuck you? Naw, you're not my type and I wouldn't force my dick to sully itself with your insides! See, I'm not done talking.” Winham's in a corner now, wedged in between the weight-bench and something that might be an instrument for training your legs, or it might be something entirely different. He doesn't care what it is, except for the fact that it's blocking his way out. Now, the stranger is close enough that he can read his prisoner's badge, number 6 27 19 74. No name, but that's not unusual. Winham doesn't have one on his shirt either.

“Wh-what do you want, then?”

“Nothing, to be honest. This is not personal, though I don't mind doing it as much as I would mind other things.” He smirks and now, there is a wicked glint in his eyes. He hefts the bat, studying it and seemingly stroking the wide part. “Well, let's skip the foreplay, shall we?”

Quick like a snake, he grabs Miles at his shirt and jerks him towards him, kicking his legs out from him and twisting his arms behind his back, practically bending him over. Winham gasps but swiftly, 6 27 19 74 stuffs a cloth inside is mouth, tying it with a shoelace that cuts deeply into his cheeks. He's gagged, and his screams of terror are muffled, probably not even leaving the room. He suddenly realizes why the soundproofing of this prison might not be such a smart idea...

Shoving him, hard, the prisoner pushes him over the bench, holding Miles down with his arm twisted so painfully that every move hurts his teeth. He feels him undoing his belt and nestling with his pants and Winham tries to blank his mind, tries hard, so hard not to know or imagine what will happen next.

“I could say 'Relax, then it won't hurt so much' or 'I really don't like doing this' … But I'd hate lying to you. Not when we were getting along so well,” 6 27 whispers into his ear.

Next thing Miles knows, there is a very cold, very blunt pressure at the end of his back and his mind screams at him to run, flee, go, black out - escape, but his limbs are frozen in terror.

His vocal cords are still working fine, though.

**

Outside the rec-room, a janitor with a pony-tail places a Maintenance, closed until noon sign in front of the door. He frowns when he hears a muffled sound from within, but none of the prisoners or guards that move through the hallways heard or pay attention to it.

Sometimes, he'd let debts slide by, forgetting to collect. Often, though, it comes in handy to know people like him, who owe him. Owe him big.

The janitor starts the vaccuum-cleaner, humming words to a song playing on his iPod. ”What I've felt, what I've known, never shined through in what I've shown...“

 

~the real end~


End file.
